The Serpents' Society and the Dementors' Fortress
by Amberdulen
Summary: Pre-OotP - Sirius Black, a mysterious haunting, O.W.L.s, and the defense of the Quidditch cup ... This year, the Society for Slytherin Advancement has its hands full.
1. Wine, Women and Song

**Title:** The Serpents' Society and the Dementors' Fortress   
**Author:** Amberdulen   
**Rating:** PG for a little scary stuff and some tasteful swearing later on.   
**Summary:** This is a parallel novel to The Prisoner of Azkaban and a sequel to the previous two Serpents' Society novels. Great pains have been taken to make sure that this book doesn't change the story told in PoA or contradict anything in the series. (You can ask my beautiful, intelligent and picky beta-reader Giesbrecht.) If you get confused, I recommend reading The Serpents' Society and the Quest for the Heir (parallel of CoS), because it's better than the first Serpents' Society novel.   
**Spoilers:** All four novels and both textbooks.   
**Shipping:** Strictly Canon.   
**Disclaimer:** All the amusing and clever stuff belongs to Ms. Rowling, as do most of the fancy words.   
**Assumptions:** 1-Blaise Zabini is a girl. 2-Warrington is two years older than Harry. 3-No one is going to pay me for writing this.   
**Reviews:** Please leave a review at whatever point you stop reading the story, to let me know why. Even a simple "I hate OC's" or "This bites" or "Geez, this is a long introduction" will be enough. Thanks! 

_"Superior ability breeds superior ambition." Mr. Spock, classic Star Trek_

**Chapter One: Wine, Women, and Song**

Never show weakness: That was the Slytherin code. 

It was unofficial, of course. The more widely-acknowledged slogan was "Get ahead-- any way you can." A perfectly legitimate goal; but what every Slytherin knew was that sometimes, getting ahead meant taking out someone weaker than you. You never, never wanted to be that person. 

That was why, on the second-to-last day of August in the year 1993, Beth Parson stood in her best dress robes at the door of the Ollivanders' mansion, greeting guests as they came inside. Tall with bushy blonde hair and a jutting chin, she had always felt out of place in "high society" and especially hated idle chat with complete strangers; nonetheless, in the interest of hiding her weaknesses, here she was, shaking hands and smiling at elegant purebloods entering the Ollivanders' dinner party. 

"I'm _sorry!_" her best friend Melissa had cried earlier that day. "I just wanted to have a sleepover, but Mum got so excited about it --" 

So excited was Mrs. Ollivander that she had invited the entire Slytherin house and their parents and turned it into a banquet and cocktail party. The guest list overflowed with almost four dozen students, with another fifty fully-grown wizards -- either their parents or friends of the Ollivanders -- to round it out. Luckily, only about half of the students had accepted the invitation. Even now, Beth wasn't entirely sure who to expect. 

"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy. Draco, so good to see you." 

Melissa's voice broke Beth out of her reverie. The Malfoys, blonde and elegant, stood shaking hands with Melissa. Draco had a girl on his arm -- Beth recognized her as Pansy Parkinson, another one of the third-years. "Hello, Pansy," she said. 

Pansy inclined her head in an aristocratic gesture of acknowledgement. "I _do_ hope there will be dancing," she said by way of reply, tugging lightly on Draco's arm. He smiled at her. 

"Oh, I don't know, I don't --" Beth began, but Melissa broke in: 

"Dancing will follow immediately after dinner and continue into the night. Please feel free to mingle until the entertainment begins." Melissa waited until the group was out of earshot before she turned back to Beth. "_Please_, can you be a _bit_ more elegant?" 

"Sorry, I'm no good at flattery," Beth said crossly. "Anyway, you keep hogging the conversation --" 

She never finished her statement, however, because Melissa had turned back to the door to greet another family. 

Beth and Melissa had a lot in common. They were both fifth-year Slytherins at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; they were both relatively good students with mutual friends and enemies. There was one more similarity that very few people were aware of: they were both members of the Society for Slytherin Advancement, a secret organization dedicated to advancing the Slytherin house by learning the secrets of Hogwarts and supporting its members in their personal quests for greatness. 

When it came right down to it, though, sometimes Beth wondered how she and Melissa had ever gotten to be friends. Melissa was from a very old, very rich wizarding family; she loved high society and fancy occasions. Beth, on the other hand, had been raised by her increasingly arthritic father in relative obscurity. She was extremely self-conscious and hated feeling like she was being scrutinized; in short, the doorway of a dinner party was the last place she felt like she should be. 

The guests moved on and Beth turned back to Melissa. "I can't do this much longer. Isn't there somewhere else I can be?" 

"Oh -- all right," Melissa agreed, tossing her long black hair over her shoulder. She looked around. "Galen's looking a little lost. Go make him feel at home. _Hello_, Mrs. Montague; it's a beautiful night, isn't it?" 

Heaving a sigh of relief, Beth slipped away. Galen Melhorn, Melissa's longtime boyfriend and seventh-year Gryffindor, was standing awkwardly with his hands in his pockets about halfway across the room. He was by himself. Beth approached him with a shy smile and held out her hand. 

"Hi -- remember me? I'm Beth Parson, a friend of Melissa's." 

Galen shook her hand. "Oh, hi." He looked closely at her face. "You're the one who slapped Fred Weasley, aren't you? The other year?" 

"Oh ... yeah, that was me." Beth blushed deeply. "How are you enjoying the party?" 

Galen took a breath and looked around. "Well ... I don't know anyone, and nothing's happening ... it's kind of boring, to tell the truth." 

"I couldn't agree more," said Beth seriously, and they both laughed. "I just let Melissa go on with whatever her plans are, and hope they're not too bad." 

"You know, that works for me too," said Galen, with a grin. 

Without warning, someone came up behind Beth and clamped her arms in a bear hug. "How've you been, Beth?" 

She shrieked nervously and struggled until the unknown someone put her down. Laughing, she turned around, and when she saw who it was, hugged him again. "Bruce!" 

Bruce Bletchley grinned awkwardly until she let him go. "Good to see you. Who's your friend?" 

"This is Galen Melhorn, remember?" 

"Oh yeah ..." Bruce and Galen shook hands, but not in an especially jovial way. "Good to meet you." 

There was a pause. Then Beth said: "So, Bruce, what did you do all summer?" 

"Quidditch," said Bruce, brightening instantly. "By the way, d'you know most of the team's here? Uther's over in the corner all pissed off because Mel invited some of the Capulets. Anyway, my cousins came up from Kent for a month, and they're smashing good Beaters, so between us we put together a great defensive side, you know, for scrimmages on the local pitch." 

It turned out that Galen, too, was from Kent, so the conversation turned to Quidditch and mutual acquaintances until Melissa bustled up to them and hissed, "The entertainment's starting. Come on, let's go get a table!" 

In the next room, a low stage had been erected along one wall, with a piano on one side of it. Surrounding it were lots of small, round tables on the floor. They grabbed one near the stage that had four seats. Almost as soon as they had sat down, the lights dimmed and a long, lanky man strode onto the stage. 

"Mr. Needleton," Melissa murmured. "He works for us -- sort of a public-relations man." 

Onstage, Mr. Needleton raised his hands. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome!" There was a round of polite applause. "Our gracious hosts the Ollivanders have arranged a treat for us tonight. Not only is she beautiful, but she has a magical voice that is sure to please, and a heart of gold. Let me introduce -- the one and only -- the Singing Sorceress -- Celestina Warbeck!" 

The crowd applauded enthusiastically. In a puff of purple smoke, a beautiful woman appeared on stage. Her hair was sleek and piled high on her head, and her robes shimmered in the candlelight. She pointed her wand flirtatiously at the piano, and it began to tinkle out a relaxed, easy number. 

        _Don't need a Cheering Charm to brighten my mood   
        Don't need a house elf to make me my food   
        Don't need a potion to cure my ague   
        Honey, all I need is you
_

"How did you get hold of her?" Beth murmured to Melissa, who was swaying dreamily to the music. "She's like, the most famous singer in England." 

"Friend of my parents'," she replied vaguely. "Hush, I love this part." 

        _Who cares if a dragon has burned up your home?   
        Who cares if you saw a Grim inside your crystal dome?   
        I don't worry 'bout the future, it can never be blue   
        'Cause honey, all I need is you.
_

Celestina Warbeck took a bow as the crowd applauded again. A few of the students let out catcalls; she smiled and waved in that direction. The many jewels on her fingers glinted, but one ring didn't catch any light; its flat crest and pewter color remained unobtrusive. 

The performance was extraordinary. Apart from being extremely talented, Celestina Warbeck turned out to be charming and witty, entertaining the crowd in between songs with funny anecdotes or amusing commentary. Beth was torn between admiration and envy. She would never be that attractive or glamorous, and she knew it. Then again, Ms. Warbeck made even Antigone von Dervish, the prettiest girl in the fifth year, look as plain as porridge. 

After a rousing rendition of "Beat Back Those Bludgers, Boys, and Chuck That Quaffle Here" (which the whole Slytherin Quidditch team heartily joined in), Celestina waved at the audience again and disappeared in a puff of pink fog. There was enthusiastic cheering. Mr. Needleton came back onto the stage. 

"Well! It sounds like you've all enjoyed Ms. Warbeck's performance!" More applause. The Quidditch team roared their agreement. "She has asked me to thank you for being such a receptive audience -- and that she looks forward to meeting all of you as the evening moves along. Now -- dinner!" He clapped his hands and the lighting changed: instead of focusing on the stage, each table now had an elegant chandelier above it, glimmering with dozens of bright candles. A few moments later, a tiny embossed menu with a gold tassel appeared on top of each plate. 

Melissa picked hers up and began to scrutinize it fashionably. "What are you going to order, Beth?" 

Beth looked down at the menu. Every other word was unrecognizable; Beth wasn't sure if it was in another language or simply peppered with culinary terms. "I'm not even sure I'll know what it is once I've ordered it," she joked, but Melissa gave her such a disdainful glare that she subsided and took a closer look at the menu. 

"This is all food?" wondered Bruce, turning his menu this way and that. "What's ragamunkar, some kind of cat or something?" 

"It's cabbage," said Melissa witheringly. "It's Polish." 

"Oh," said Bruce. He squinted at the menu. "What's raitha, then?" 

"Steamed otter," said Beth facetiously, "covered in paint." 

"_Honestly_," sniffed Melissa. "That's Brinjal Raitha, it means it's a curd-based eggplant dish. Really, you'd think you had never been to a nice restaurant." 

"I think McDonald's is _very_ nice," Beth said, sticking her nose in the air, while Galen said, "Come on, hon, they _never_ serve anything like this at the Three Broomsticks." 

Melissa turned away muttering something about swine. 

Eventually, and with much huffy sighing from Melissa, they had enough of an idea what everything was to order without fear. Beth got a dragon steak, which she'd never had, and several kinds of exotic-sounding vegetables. Bruce ordered a great deal of shellfish and spent the meal trying to wrestle the meat out of the hard, cooked exoskeletons. On Melissa's rather strong advice, Galen chose an obscure sauté of tripe and slivered Horklumps. "It's a delicacy," Melissa insisted. 

"To gnomes, maybe," Galen muttered to Bruce, when her back was turned. 

During dinner they had a chance to get caught up on what they had done over the summer. Unsurprisingly, Bruce had spent most of his time at the local Quidditch pitch, practicing for his position on the school team as Keeper. 

"I dunno, Bruce, think you'll get the position this year?" Beth teased. 

Bruce looked up at her mildly. "Already have it." He cracked a crab claw in half and began to tediously pick out the meat. 

Melissa grinned. "Let's not get cocky, Brucey, you've _only_ helped win the Quidditch Cup twice in a row." 

"No, really, I've got the position," said Bruce. "Didn't you know? Marcus held tryouts a week or so ago. He really wants to get the jump on the Gryffindors this year, and figured that was the only way to do it. We've practiced once or twice already." 

"Starting Quidditch before school begins? I knew you people were evil," said Galen, grinning at Melissa. 

"We're _ambitious_," corrected Bruce, and they all laughed. The other three houses at Hogwarts -- Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff -- were notorious for construing the phrase "cunning and ambitious" to mean "evil and horrible." The Slytherins, who were chosen because of their ambition, had unfortunately produced more dark witches and wizards than the rest of the houses, lending credibility to the prejudice. 

Before long, dinner was over. The guests gathered on the dance floor and the band began to play a slow, sweet number. Melissa looked up at Galen. "Shall we?" He offered her his arm and led her onto the dance floor. Bruce, looking alarmed, scuttled off to hang out with the Quidditch team, who loitered in one corner. (The exception was the Seeker, Draco Malfoy, who took to the dance floor with Pansy Parkinson almost immediately.) 

Which left Beth with nothing to do but stand and tap her foot in time to the music. 

_I've never really seen them together_, Beth thought, as she watched Melissa and Galen do the clutch-and-shuffle on the dance floor. _They're kind of cute._ Melissa was resting her head on Galen's shoulder, and he gazed down at her with a tenderness that Beth had rarely seen in the eyes of a boy. 

The slow dance ended and the band struck up a peppy little waltz. Galen and Melissa retreated to a far corner. Beth looked around idly and wished for one of the first times in her life that she was on the Quidditch team; at least then she'd have something meaningful to talk about. 

"Hey, Beth, want to dance?" 

She looked up. There stood Richard Shaw, President of the S.S.A., looking dapper in dress robes. "I didn't know you were here!" she exclaimed in delight. 

"Been hanging out with the sixth years. Come on, do you want to dance or not?" 

"I -- don't know how --" she stammered, but he grabbed her hands and dragged her onto the dance floor anyway. She flushed and looked around furtively to make sure no one was watching. 

He arranged her hands so that one was on his shoulder and the other holding his hand in the air. "It's easy -- you just walk in a box," he said breezily. "One-two-three, one-two-three ... just do what I do, but backwards." 

Blushing, Beth looked down at their feet until she picked up the steps. "RIGHT-left-right, LEFT-right-left," she chanted. 

"You can't look down, that's cheating!" 

"I've never done this before!" she retorted, but she grinned up at him and tried to keep her gaze away from the floor. Richard was an excellent lead; it was easier to feel what she was supposed to do rather than keep on chanting the steps over and over. Before long she felt like she was getting the hang of it -- even though all they'd done was dance around in a box, the fact that she was waltzing seemed elegant and exciting. 

"See, I told you!" beamed Richard. "Now bounce a little on the second beat." Beth did so. Just as they were starting to get into a nice, fluid rhythm, the waltz ended and the band picked up with an absurdly cheery polka. 

"Do you know how to polka?" She'd never noticed it before, but he was actually a bit taller than her. 

"Nope. Just the waltz and the foxtrot." He shrugged apologetically. "I just thought it'd be fun to waltz, that's all." 

Beth realized then that they were standing still on the edge of the dance floor while polka dancers whirled around them and broke away from his grasp with a blush. "How are you?" she asked, as they walked off of the dance floor. "Good summer?" 

"Great summer," he said, with genuine enthusiasm. "I got this letter -- well, guess. What's the last thing Professor Snape would ever do in the world?" 

"Adopt a Weasley," she said promptly. 

Richard laughed. "Second to last thing." 

"After he had to come get us in London, probably make you a prefect." She had meant it as a joke, but his grin broadened. "He _didn't!_ Really?" 

"Yeah, heard about it two weeks ago. I think Dumbledore must have put in a good word for me." Richard lowered his voice conspiratorially. "He seems to like the S.S.A." 

"We've done all right for him," Beth murmured back. "Warning him about the firsties in the Forbidden Corridor ... catching Kettleburn smuggling ... getting Daedalus un-Petrified, I don't know if he knows about that ... and we did turn in Riggs," she added. 

Richard looked uncomfortable at that. "I only wish we'd caught him sooner," he said softly. Faint regret flashed across his face. Then he shook his head, as if willing away a gloomy thought, and said brightly, "Have you met Ms. Warbeck?" 

"No!" Beth exclaimed. "She's still here?" 

"Of course, she's a guest too," Richard said. "Come on, I'll introduce you. You'll like her; we have something in common, you know." He held out his arm and Beth took it somewhat awkwardly, allowing him to lead her around the crowd. 

They found Celestina Warbeck among a circle of stern-looking men (Melissa's father's friends, Beth imagined.) Richard stuck his head into the group and asked heartily, "You don't mind if we steal Ms. Warbeck for a moment, do you?" 

_He sounds like one of them already_, Beth thought, half amused and half impressed. _He_ is _sixteen, after all._

The old gentlemen laughed and made jokes about wanting to keep Ms. Warbeck forever, which apparently meant that she could take her leave. She turned her back on the group gracefully and put her hands on her hips in mock scorn. 

"Mr. Shaw, shouldn't I be consulted first if I'm to be stolen?" 

"You didn't ask before you stole my heart," Richard replied charmingly, and she gave a silvery laugh. "Ms. Warbeck, this is Beth Parson. She's a fifth-year Slytherin. Beth, this is Celestina Warbeck." 

"I loved the performance," Beth said honestly, shaking hands with Ms. Warbeck. Once again, a flat pewter ring on the slender hand caught her eye. She looked from it to her own and then back up at Ms. Warbeck. 

"Gloria serpens," said Ms. Warbeck softly. She let go of Beth's hand and took Richard's other arm playfully. "Let's find somewhere less stuffy to talk, shall we?" 

Richard led them across the dance floor and onto the broad patio overlooking the gardens. The nighttime sky was vast above them, stars glimmering like faeries. Beth gazed skyward and located the Orion constellation before Richard stopped in a place that was far enough away from the others to prevent anyone overhearing. 

"It's lucky there are several of us here; I've been asked to bring you a message," Ms. Warbeck said, smiling at Beth. Surprised, Beth smiled back. "More of an announcement, really. Our _esteemed_ President Mr. Jules Rothbard has been asked to fill the place on your board of governors left vacant by Mr. Lucius Malfoy. He's _quite_ thrilled," she added, laughing again. Her laugh had a pearly, light quality that made Beth despair of her own too-hearty laughter. "I'm sure you can imagine. 'Anything to further the Slytherin house,' he says, although I think he's just as proud for himself." 

"He has a right to be," said Richard stoutly. He glanced behind his shoulder. "Does the Society know anything about Sirius Black?" he asked, in a hushed voice. 

Ms. Warbeck shook her head. "No more than anyone else," she sighed. "He's done a good job, to be sure. Did you know, I was with him at Hogwarts? He was an incurable prankster -- and a devilish flirt," she added, eyes glinting. "We all had a crush on either him or James Potter -- secretly, of course, they kept squeaking ahead of us for the House Cup." 

Beth snorted. "Believe me, we know what that's like." 

"You have a crush on Harry Potter?" Richard teased. 

"_Deeply_," said Beth, in her best theatrical whisper, and Ms. Warbeck laughed gaily. 

"Well, I'd certainly understand, if he looks anything like his father did -- although I suspect he's a bit young for you --" 

"Age is no barrier to true love," Beth avowed, hamming it up. 

They broke off at the sound of footsteps, but it was Bruce who came up and wormed his way into the little circle. "We plotting to kill Potter?" he asked brightly. "Can I help?" 

"Miss Warbeck, this is Bruce Bletchley," Beth said, as he and the singer shook hands. "He's the Slytherin Keeper." 

"Aha." A glint appeared in Ms. Warbeck's eye. "I heard all about your spectacular Quidditch team from Mr. Flint. Seven years' winning record, is it?" 

"Eight, if you count last year," said Bruce eagerly. "They didn't actually give out the cup, but we were ahead when they cancelled the season." 

"Well, I wish you the very best of luck in the coming year, Mr. Bletchley," said Ms. Warbeck. "Gloria serpens." 

"Thanks," grinned Bruce. "Say -- do you want to meet the rest of the Quidditch team? They're all inside throwing hors d'ouvres at each other. I think they could stand a distraction." 

"Do you mind?" she asked Richard, who nodded gallantly. 

"Not at all. I'd like to speak to Beth anyhow. It's been a pleasure speaking with you." 

Ms. Warbeck winked and went off with Bruce, who was now chattering animatedly about this year's prospects. Richard turned to Beth awkwardly and offered his arm. "D'you -- do you mind?" 

"Uh -- no," she said, taking his arm. They walked slowly along the starlit patio, occasionally changing direction to avoid running into a pair or cluster of people. "What do you want to talk about?" 

Richard was silent. Then he cleared his throat and said: 

"Riggs. Riggs left early. He -- he was supposed to pick a successor." He cleared his throat again. "I've -- picked you." 

"What?" said Beth blankly. 

"For secretary. Riggs was supposed to choose next years' successor, I mean secretary, but he left before he could do it -- so, I think you should do it. I mean, be secretary." 

Beth was stunned; then she broke into a grin. "Really?" 

Richard nodded. "Yeah. You'll have to -- record stuff, and help me escort the newbies down to the Vase Room, and things --" 

"Sure, that'd be great!" said Beth, with genuine enthusiasm. "Thanks!" 

Richard looked relieved. "No problem. You've done a lot of good for the Society, you know -- especially last year, with the Polyjuice and all." 

Beth flushed brightly and was silent. 

"I don't know if she's told you yet, but Vivian chose Melissa to be the next vice president," Richard went on. "Impressed with the whole feminine agenda, no doubt." 

"Good!" said Beth. "I'll bet she's thrilled." She laughed suddenly. "Speaking of Melissa -- I bet we don't see her for the rest of the night, if Galen's around. Her boyfriend," she clarified, at Richard's confused expression. "She doesn't see him that often over the summer." 

"Is he pureblood? Not that it makes a difference," he added hastily, with a glance at Beth, "but, you know, we keep to ourselves, and the old wizarding families would interact more with each other than with a Muggle family ..." 

"I _think_ he's pureblood," said Beth. "Never asked. I can't imagine Mel dating even a half-blood, though." She shrugged. "Just the way she is." 

They strolled around the patio several more times, talking about the differences between Muggle and wizard communities. After a while, though, it began to get chilly, and they retreated into the parlor, where they joined the Quidditch team in several voracious card games. It was midnight before Melissa came up and joined them. 

"Galen's gone home," she sighed, sitting down quietly beside Beth. "Things are clearing out." 

Sure enough, the guests soon began filtering out in earnest, and by one o'clock in the morning, Beth and the Ollivanders were left by themselves in the empty room. 

Melissa's father strode over to where Beth and Melissa sat picking through the deck of cards and nibbling leftover hors d'ouvres. Tall, with sleek black hair and a tiny moustache, he was a graceful and jovial host. "You can go upstairs now, girls, there's no one left to entertain." His moustache twitched with good humor. "And you'll want to get up early to go shopping." 

"Dad, I _never_ want to get up early," complained Melissa, but she stood up and gave him a hug anyway. "Thank you for hosting this party. It was a good time." 

"I quite agree," said Mr. Ollivander cheerfully. "I haven't seen the Malfoys in months. And Jean and Eustace Bole are a charming couple. Their youngest is starting at Hogwarts this year, I told them you'd keep an eye out for her." He smiled down at them. "Now get off to bed. I'll see you both in the morning." 

The Ollivanders' mansion was enormous. They climbed the elegant staircase up to the fourth floor, which was occupied by a library, a sitting room, and Melissa's voluminous bedroom and private bath. Despite the elaborate decor of the room, in the interest of preserving the "sleepover" aura, two sleeping bags had been set up on Melissa's richly carpeted floor, complete with fluffy pillows and ruffles around the edges. Beth threw herself down onto them grandly. "I am _bushed_." 

"See, it wasn't so bad," said Melissa cheerfully. 

"I guess not," Beth admitted. "Miss Warbeck is wonderful, isn't she? And Richard taught me how to waltz." 

Melissa's eyebrows went up. "Really." 

"_Really_, and stop thinking like that," said Beth, jokingly cross. "He's just -- Richard. Congratulations on getting to be Vice President, by the way." 

"Oh -- thanks," said Melissa, blushing a little. "It's not that big a deal. I only get to run the meetings when Richard's not around, and you know he'd rather die than miss a meeting." 

"I bet that wouldn't even stop him," Beth teased. "He'd be like Professor Binns, and come back every Thursday night, dead or not." 

They got ready for bed without much more talking. It had been a long, enjoyable evening; nothing more needed to be said. Beth snuggled into her sleeping bag, muttered a sleepy "Good night," to Melissa, and closed her eyes. 

She was just starting to fall off into her dreams when someone began to scream. 

Beth struggled into a sitting position. "What's wrong, who's that?" The noise was clear, but faint; it sounded like it was coming from outside. 

Melissa rolled over. "Mmf?" 

"That noise -- screaming --" Alarmed now, Beth stood up and padded barefoot to the window. She looked out over the meticulously landscaped courtyard. At first, nothing seemed to be moving ... but then a cloud over the moon shifted, and pale light glinted on a billow of white. It was hair, long and tattered, twisting in the wind, circling the form of a woman in a long white shrift. Her mouth was wide open, in a long and horrible scream. 

Beth's gut wrenched. She suddenly had to hang onto the windowsill to keep herself upright. The woman's eyes roved wildly over the castle; then they rose and met Beth's gaze from the window high above. The woman gave one more ghastly shriek. 

Then she vanished. 

The vast emptiness of the courtyard, strikingly silent now, hit Beth like a blow in the stomach. Her knees seemed to turn to water. She had never seen a person truly _scream_, on and on, with such terror behind every gasping breath, such mournful agony in each long note, such wild and fearful eyes ... 

"Whuzzat?" 

Melissa had meandered up, wiping her sleepy eyes on the sleeve of her nightgown. "You 'kay?" she yawned. 

Beth looked from her half-awake friend to the window and back again. "Didn't you ... hear that?" 

"Hear wha --" Melissa broke off and yawned again. "Sorry, what?" 

Beth turned and stared out of the window again. The night was unbroken either by shriek or wild woman in a tattered white dress. "I thought ..." She trailed off. Melissa was regarding her with sleepy curiosity. "Never mind. Bad dream." 

She followed Melissa back to the sleeping bags in the center of the room and climbed back into hers, snuggling as far down as she could get. Only after she was wrapped up and still did Beth realize that her hands were shaking. 


	2. Basilisk Fire

**Chapter Two: Basilisk Fire**

"Misses! It is the day for Diagon Alley, Miss and Miss, you must not be late for your shoppings!" 

Beth groggily opened her eyes. Then she let out a shriek and sat straight up, clutching her sleeping bag around her. It was a few moments before she realized that the enormous green eyes staring back at her belonged to a small elfish creature wearing what appeared to be a lampshade. Despite the fact that it was staring intently at Beth, its expression was more of curiosity than threat. 

Melissa yawned and rolled over. "S'okay, Binky, we're up," she mumbled, her long dark hair falling into her mouth as she spoke. 

"Nice to meet you ... Binky," Beth managed, still staring at the odd little person. Like its eyes, its ears were extraordinarily large, and its nose was shaped much like a kidney bean. The gender was uncertain. 

The creature bowed at the waist, and the bottom edge of its lampshade scraped the floor. "Binky is pleased to meet you, Miss, but it is time you must be getting up and going to Diagon Alley. There is many shoppings to do, oh yes, and Misses must be ready to leave tomorrow morning." There was something unidentifiably feminine about the creature; Beth decided it must be a girl of its species, whatever that was. 

"Give us an hour," said Melissa, crawling to a sitting position. "We'll be at breakfast by -- what time is it?" 

The creature wrung her hands. "It is nine in the mornings, Miss, you must leave for shoppings by ten in the mornings sharp!" 

Melissa gave Beth a sleepy little grin. "Okay, half an hour. Let's see, I want French toast and strawberries. Beth?" 

"Uh --" Beth looked at the little creature, which gazed back up at her expectantly. "I dunno, whatever you have." 

"Oh come on," said Melissa, shoving her good-naturedly. "We have _everything_. What're you hungry for?" 

"Um, okay ... bacon and a bagel, I guess." 

The creature Binky bowed low; the lampshade scraped the floor again; then it turned and scurried away. 

Melissa got up and started collecting her shower things. Beth let out her breath slowly. "What -- what was that?" 

"Her? That's Binky." Melissa squinted her eyes, trying to decide between two scents of soap, and decided on the laurel. "Oh, I guess you wouldn't know ... she's our house elf. Like a servant, only shorter." She laughed at her own joke and disappeared into the bathroom. 

***

Beth knew from experience that getting a teenage girl ready to go in half an hour was difficult. Getting two teenage girls ready in half an hour proved to be nearly impossible. After they had each managed a hasty shower, the bathroom was a tangle of teeth-brushing, hair-drying, face-washing madness. Beth picked at her bushy blonde hair without much hope, and sure enough, when Binky came in squealing, "Misses must get to breakfast, all their foods is ready and getting cold!" her hair remained as impossible as ever. 

They scrambled down to the Ollivanders' large kitchen and plunked down at the table. Mrs. Ollivander was there sipping tea while a small spoon levitated beside her, feeding thirteen-month-old Russell from a small glass of baby food. 

"Good morning, dear," she said tiredly, kissing Melissa on the forehead. "Good morning, Beth. I hope you slept well." 

Beth nodded. As she did, Binky whisked up and dropped in front of her a plate containing a bagel and at least a dozen crisp slices of bacon. 

"Thanks for letting Beth stay over, Mum," said Melissa, who was now being served her French toast with several plump strawberries on the side. 

Mrs. Ollivander smiled at her daughter. "Of course, dear. It gave me an excuse to throw a party -- and I had a chance to meet some more of your delightful friends. The young Malfoy boy is quite the charmer." 

"Sorry, Mum, he's taken," Melissa replied with a grin. 

Her mother smiled back. "Pity, I almost had our elopement all worked out." 

"Who's running away with my wife?" boomed a jocular voice from the hall. Mr. Ollivander strode in and gave his jovial wife a sound kiss on the cheek. "I won't have it, I say." He sat down beside her and put an arm around her waist. "I'm rather fond of her." 

"Good morning, Rex," smiled Mrs. Ollivander. 

Mr. Ollivander turned to the girls. "I'm going to insist that you take Binky to Diagon Alley with you today -- latte, please," he said to Binky, who bowed and darted away. "With this Sirius Black on the loose, I simply don't think that two girls should be out on their own. Of course, you are both perfectly intelligent, capable, and, if I may say, beautiful women -- thank you, Binky, it smells smashing -- but I don't trust the situation, you see?" He took a sip of coffee. "Mmm, this must be a hazelnut blend." 

Melissa protested, "It'll go so much slower with Binky there, Dad!" 

Russell belched and a large quantity of baby food came tumbling out of his mouth. Mrs. Ollivander sighed and Summoned a dishrag. "He's been sighted again," she said, mopping off Russell's face (who gurgled in delight at the clever prank he had played on his mother). "It was in the Prophet just this morning. I have to agree with your father on this, it's just not a very safe time to be unchaperoned." 

Binky hurried into the dining room and bowed low so that her lampshade scraped on the floor. "Sir, there is a head in the fireplace wishing to speaks with you, sir." 

"Thank you, Binky." Mr. Ollivander got up and went into the living room, as if it were perfectly ordinary for a head to appear in his fireplace. 

Melissa's mother finished cleaning Russell and set the spoon to feeding him again. "You'll need new robes this year, darling," she said, looking over at Melissa. "And don't forget the quills. I'm very sorry for what happened to them, but you know that Russell's just a baby." 

"Can I get a crystal ball?" asked Melissa, leaning over to tickle Russell under the chin. "Professor Trelawney is going to be doing some advanced orb-readings this year." Russell rewarded his sister's kindness by spitting up on her hand. 

"The school orbs will be just fine," said Mrs. Ollivander, handing her the dishrag. "Just be sure that you do well in Ancient Runes. There are enormous possibilities within that field, and you're very good at it --" 

Mr. Ollivander's voice came from the living room. "Beth, could you come out here, please? It's for you." 

"Okay," called Beth, undeniably surprised. First of all, she had never gotten a message through the fireplace, and secondly, very few people knew where she was. She left her bagel half-eaten and went out to the living room. 

Mr. Ollivander was sitting there on his haunches in front of the fireplace. A translucent blue head, rather larger than usual, was sitting in the flames. They both turned to look at Beth as she came in. Then she recognized the old, balding head and kind but cranky face. 

"Mr. Scamander, hi!" 

The head of Mr. Scamander smiled and his face creased into a map of wrinkles. "Hullo, Bethy. How was the party?" 

"Great!" she said enthusiastically, sitting down next to Mr. Ollivander on the floor. "What d'you need?" 

"Oh, your father wanted us to check in on you -- see how you were, and all --" 

Without warning, the fire shifted and another blue head popped up beside Mr. Scamander's. It was Mrs. Scamander. "Hullo, Beth!" she said cheerily. 

"Get out of this fire, woman, you're hogging all the space!" roared Mr. Scamander's head. 

"Don't be silly, Newt, I just want to talk to Bethy," said Mrs. Scamander in a no-nonsense voice. They looked like a pair of sky-blue Easter eggs, hovering there above the ashes side by side. "At any rate there's plenty of space for both of us." 

"Well, quit sticking me with your bony elbows," grumbled Mr. Scamander. Beth giggled. She knew that Mr. Scamander was prone to playing the part of a grouch -- especially when he was working on another edition of his book -- but underneath he was more of a softie than his wife. 

Melissa wandered in with a glass of orange juice. "Who is it?" 

"The Scamanders," said Beth. "They just wanted to check up -- right?" she said to the fireplace. 

Mrs. Scamander smiled and nodded. "Simply to be sure you're all right. Your father was a mite concerned. So what are your big plans for your last day before school starts, dear?" 

"Diagon Alley. We both need to go shopping," said Beth, indicating Melissa behind her. "Scrolls and things, and Melissa's brother Russell ate all her quills --" 

Melissa dropped to her knees beside the fire, orange juice forgotten. "Mr. Scamander, it's a pleasure to meet you," she said breathlessly. "We used your book for two years. I loved it." 

"Did you now!" Mr. Scamander's face brightened instantly. "Let's see, that would have been the fifty-first edition, wouldn't it? I redid the section on Kelpies for that -- added a mention of Loch Ness -- took me seven months to rewrite," he bragged. 

"Don't listen to him, it was only five," said Mrs. Scamander, while her husband scowled at her. "I don't suppose you two would care to meet up with two old fools, would you? We'll be in Diagon Alley to do a bit of visiting and we'd love to see you both." 

"Especially her," said Mr. Scamander, nodding his chin at Melissa. 

Melissa turned to her father, who had been listening to the entire conversation with unconcealed amusement. "What do you say, can we meet with them instead of taking Binky?" she asked quickly. 

Beth caught on. "You can trust them, I've known them for years," she added hastily. 

Mr. Ollivander stroked his moustache, grinning. "It's all right with me if your mother doesn't mind." There was a large crash, gurgling from Russell, and a faintly hysterical wail of "Binky, _please_ come here!" from the dining room. "She doesn't mind," he amended. "I'll leave it to you fine people to settle on a meeting place. Have a good time." He stood up, kissed both Melissa and Beth on the tops of their heads (Beth blushed furiously) and strode out into the dining room to rescue his wife. 

"Shall we say, Fortescue's for lunch?" said Mrs. Scamander brightly. 

"Not that old fool Florian Fortescue!" grouched Mr. Scamander. 

"He's forty years younger than you, dear." 

"But he's twice the fool," Mr. Scamander muttered. "An ice-cream stand. What kind of respectable business is that?" His head turned toward Beth and he gave her an evil glare. "You ever go into the ice-cream business, girl, and I'll disown you." 

"You can't, we're not related," giggled Beth. 

"Little whippersnappers, telling me what I can't do!" 

"Oh, hush, Newt, you'll have plenty of time to rant about it all later." She smiled fondly at Beth and Melissa. "We'll see you two at noon -- sharp, now, you know how Newt is about punctuality." 

Beth had just enough time to blurt out, "See you then," before they disappeared into a pile of blue ashes. 

***

They took the Floo network to Diagon Alley. "I still can't believe we managed to ditch Binky," Melissa rejoiced, as they strolled among the bustling crowds and busy stores. "Your grand -- I mean, the Scamanders are great." 

Beth laughed. "That's all right, they're just like grandparents to me," she said. "Where do you want to be off to first?" 

"I have to stop in to see my Uncle Ollivander. Mum and Dad left me with a message." She lowered her voice a little. "Plus, I want to see how those basilisk wands are looking. He just started testing them the other day." 

They turned into the narrow shop with fading gold letters above the door. Inside it was dim and dusty, with boxes of wands piled high along three walls. Beth had always felt nervous in such an antiquated shop, but Melissa strode round the counter and into the back room, calling, "Uncle Ollivander! It's me, Melissa!" 

She came back out accompanied by an old man with large, milky spectacles. Beth remembered Melissa's uncle well; he had almost terrified her in the process of picking out the right wand. Melissa, however, looked completely comfortable with him, and although he looked no less strict, a small smile floated around his mouth in the presence of his niece. 

"Melissa, how have you been?" 

"Well, thanks." 

"And the Society?" said Melissa's uncle, turning his gaze to Beth. She remembered that he, too, was a former member of the S.S.A. 

"Fine, Mr. Ollivander," she said politely. 

"Mum and Dad say that they think the unicorn deal with Portugal is going to turn out all right, that bloody Gregorovich is starting to get a share of the market in Spain, and they would like to resume using chestnut wood despite the risk of plague," Melissa recited. "Can we see the basilisk wands? Can we?" 

Mr. Ollivander waved an elderly hand. "All right, come on in the back and I'll give you a demonstration." 

Beth followed the two of them through the small shop and into a doorway so low and crooked that she had to duck sideways to get in. Unlike the store, which had the dusty smell of old books, this little workroom had the fresh smell of cut wood. Cylinders of wood in all sized and colors lined the walls, and pieces of woodworking equipment littered the floor. Melissa sat down on the edge of a huge vat of sandpaper while Mr. Ollivander made his way to the workbench in the middle of the room. He swept aside a pile of wood shavings and brought out what appeared to be a bundle of sticks. As he laid them out, Beth saw that they were wands -- unpolished, without some of the smaller details, but fully effective. 

"Twelve different kinds of wood," said Mr. Ollivander, running a long finger down the length of one lovingly. "Brothers, all." 

"Can I try one?" said Melissa eagerly. 

"No!" Mr. Ollivander's reply was sharp and shocking. "No," he repeated. "I'd rather you not. You see, the testing has been ... interesting ... Here, let me show you." 

He picked up a honey-colored wand and held it at arm's length. "Lumos." A large red fireball erupted from the end of the wand and hovered in mid-air about an inch above the tip. "Nox," said Mr. Ollivander, and the fireball went out with a small _bang_. He laid it back down with the others. 

"Not at all a traditional response," he said severely. "If one of my wands did this, I would dismantle it and burn the pieces. It's not just this one, however -- all of them have the same odd way of interpreting standard spells. I would never sell or give one of these to anyone without a complete queue of tests." 

"I'll help," said Melissa quickly. "I can test some over break. It'll give me practice for the O.W.L.s," she added hopefully. 

Her uncle squinted at her. "We'll see," he said, in a manner that made Beth suspect that Melissa would never get to touch them. 

A bell rang from within the store and Mr. Ollivander perked up. "Excuse me," he said, rubbing his hands together. "My customers call." 

"We'll give you a hand," said Melissa, jumping up. "We can fetch the wands for you. All right?" 

Her uncle grunted in reply. 

They filed back into the shop. There stood a plump, smiling woman with curly hair, and behind her, a tall boy with red hair that Beth recognized immediately: the youngest Weasley boy, best friend of Potter and the younger brother of the twin banes of her existence. Melissa and Beth stood back while Melissa's uncle went forward to greet them. 

"Ah, Molly Weasley," he said, reaching out and taking her hands. "Ten inches, a nice solid oak with a phoenix core. I trust it still serves you well?" 

"Of course," beamed the woman, whom Beth assumed to be the Weasleys' mother. "I'm afraid Ron has had -- ahem -- a mishap with his wand." She gave her son a bit of a glare. "He'll be needing a new one." 

"Happy to oblige," said Mr. Ollivander. He glanced over the Weasley as if sizing him up. "Now this is unusual! I haven't seen you before, have I?" 

"Er -- no," said the Weasley, going quite red in the face. "I -- started with Charlie's old wand." 

Mr. Ollivander nodded. "Aha. Unicorn mane. A fine wand, but he did need a bit more -- how shall we say -- firepower, for his current line of work?" Laughing to himself, he pulled out a tape measure. Beth watched, fascinated, as Mr. Ollivander measured the Weasley from head to toe and every imaginable diameter. Finally he stepped back and said, "Let's begin with a thirteen-inch, shall we? You've been using unicorn hair with success?" The Weasley nodded. "Melissa, fetch a U-13 with, shall we say, ash?" 

Melissa snapped into action. Hurrying to the stacks of wands, she pulled one out with barely a glance and handed it to her uncle. He took it out and thrust it into the Weasley's hand. Almost immediately, he grabbed it back. 

"Close," he murmured to himself. "Not ash, though ... not flexible enough ... willow, perhaps?" 

Quick as lightning, Melissa had another wand ready. She seemed to be enjoying herself, Beth noticed. This time, Mr. Ollivander let the Weasley try a spell or two before snatching the wand away. "That's the right combination, yes, but let's make it an inch longer -- you'll grow a fair bit, I'll wager," he added, eyeing the tall redhead. He took the wand from Melissa and handed it to the Weasley, who waved it around with a growing look of pleasure. 

"Yeah -- this is it!" he grinned, making sparks fly from the end. "This one'll do." 

"I thought as much," said Mr. Ollivander smugly. He took the wand back and handed it to Melissa, who put it back in the box and began wrapping it up in brown paper. "A wand can last a lifetime, if properly cared for. I expect that you will polish yours at least twice a week --" 

"Yeah, sure," said the Weasley, who still looked rather enamored. 

"And bring it in to me for a checkup once per year if possible," Mr. Ollivander finished to Mrs. Weasely, as she was looking much more attentive than her son. "That will be seven Galleons, five Sickles, please, Mrs. Weasley." 

Mrs. Weasley heaved a little sigh and dug into a slim, tattered money bag. "I remember that my own wand was only four Galleons," she said, handing several gold coins to Mr. Ollivander. "Bill's was six and a bit. Times are certainly changing, aren't they, Mr. Ollivander?" 

"More with every passing year," said Melissa's uncle softly, with a small bow. 

Melissa gave the wand to the Weasley and a very vague kind of recognition crossed his face. 

"D'you go to Hogwarts, then?" he asked curiously. 

Melissa made a bow exactly like her uncle's and replied, "For four years now. Good day." She retreated to the back of the shop, where Beth stood trying to avoid the Weasley's gaze. He'd recognize _her_, for sure -- she was the one that had slapped one of his brothers (she had never been sure which one) in the cafeteria two years ago, for a prank it turned out that they did not commit. 

"It is always thrilling to watch a wand choose its new owner," Mr. Ollivander said softly, when the Weasleys had left. He turned back to Beth and Melissa. "You'll want to be getting along, won't you?" 

"Oh -- yes," said Melissa, a little disappointed. "Come on, Beth, let's go to Malkin's first, what do you think? You can look around at the dress robes while I'm being fitted." 

Beth nodded gamely, although looking through racks of dress robes wasn't her first choice for a morning of fun. "Thank you for showing us the basilisk wands," she said to Melissa's uncle, and they left the dusty shop for the hot, sunny street. 

The morning flew by as the two girls went from shop to shop collecting school supplies or just browsing the exotic wares. At Madame Malkin's Melissa ended up getting three new sets of robes and a blue paisley shawl that she "just couldn't resist." Beth wondered what it was like to have enough money to splurge on things randomly, and made up for her envy by purchasing a bottle of metallic green ink at the Bartleby's Stationery and Supplies. 

They met up with Mr. and Mrs. Scamander at Forescue's Ice-Cream Parlor, as planned, and spent the afternoon strolling around window-shopping and listening to the local gossip. Harry Potter, it seemed, was staying in the Leaky Cauldron after an incident in which he had purportedly blown up his aunt. 

"Good heavens," said Beth, "you mean like she exploded?" 

"Tha's what they say," whispered the pockmarked young Knight Bus attendant who had given them the scoop. 

"I suppose they didn't kick him out of school for it," Melissa grumbled. The boy shook his head. "It figures. Even Minister Fudge has a soft spot for the little twit." 

The bus attendant looked appalled. 

They took the Floo network home as the sun began to set. The Ollivanders had a pair of business guests over for dinner, so Binky brought Melissa and Beth some sandwiches, which they ate on the floor with much teasing and giggling. Afterward Melissa took her on a tour of the mansion -- the estate was so huge that it easily took the entire evening. The family had a vast array of magical objects amassed over centuries of time, including and entire room dedicated to magic mirrors and another draped with moving tapestries. 

It had been a long day. As Beth settled into her sleeping bag, the thought of the screaming specter sprang to her mind; but it was overruled by contentment and exhaustion, and Beth fell asleep without another thought. 


	3. The Ghast on the Train

**Chapter Three: Snake and Sorting**

The next morning, Beth and Melissa were awakened by Binky at the early-morning hour of nine o'clock. They made it out the door by ten with no unusual incident, unless you counted Russell stealing his mother's wand so that he could more effectively pick his own nose. 

It turned out that the Ollivanders owned an automobile: moreover, it was a new Dodge Viper, sleek and resplendent in dark violet paint. "One must get around, mustn't one?" said Melissa's father cheerfully, climbing into the driver's seat. 

"We had it reworked. Now it runs on ketchup!" chirped Melissa from the back seat. "Gets two hundred miles to the bottle! Don't tell the Ministry, though," she added, with a little smile. "The Muggle Artifacts people are always watching us." 

"With good reason," Mr. Ollivander agreed brightly. 

As Melissa lived just outside of London, it took very little time to make it to King's Cross Station. They bid Mr. Ollivander farewell and hurried through the barrier to get to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters with their luggage. 

Bruce was already there, loading up his larger parcels. "Long time no see," he grinned. He had his Comet Two-Sixty stuck under one arm and a suitcase in the other. "Come on, let's find a seat." 

They found an empty compartment around the middle of the train. No sooner had they gotten comfortable when the door to the compartment opened and an awkward-looking boy with a lot of red hair came in. "Got space here?" 

"Sure!" said Beth brightly. "Move over, Bruce, you're taking up the whole seat." 

Bruce scooted closer to the window without too much grumbling. The large-haired boy, Mervin Fletcher, sat down with them. "Good summer?" 

They all affirmed that it had been, in many and varied ways. Mervin looked crushed when they started to tell him about the dinner party. 

"I knew I should have gone -- Mum wanted me home for the last few days of vacation. Can't believe I missed Celestina Warbeck." He looked up at Bruce longingly. "Is she really as pretty as she sounds?" 

"_Better_," said Bruce emphatically. Melissa scowled. 

"He means, she's more than pretty," Beth said hastily, with a glance at Melissa. "She's an S.S.A. alumnus." 

"Brains and beauty," said Mervin morosely. He livened a bit. "Speak of beauty -- look what I got over the summer!" He nodded his head to the right. Nestled in a little coil on his shoulder was a tiny snake, barely thicker than a pencil, shimmering with multicolored scales and apparently fast asleep. Stretched out, she could have hardly been longer than a wand. 

"Her name's Gina," Mervin said fondly, gazing down at his sleeping pet. "She's a month old. She's wonderful, isn't she?" 

Beth looked at the little snake curled up on Mervin's shoulder. "Where'd you get it?" 

"She's a _her_," Mervin emphasized. "I got her down Knockturn Alley." 

Bruce looked both impressed and jealous. "_Wicked_, Mum _never_ lets me go down there --" he said, shaking his head, while Melissa gasped, "Your parents let you go in Knockturn Alley?" 

Mervin ducked his head a little. "They don't know actually," he admitted. "They think I got her in the Magical Menagerie. I didn't go by myself," he added hastily, at the alarmed looks from all around him. "Great-Uncle Mundungus took me. He had to replace a whole set of self-polishing silverware that the Muggle Artifacts people confiscated. Anyhow, she was sitting in this tiny cage right by a big pen of Hairy Macboons, and she looked up at me with those pretty eyes --" he heaved a rapturous sigh "-- and I fell in love." 

"You are really weird," said Beth seriously. 

"But we knew that," Melissa laughed. 

There was a clanging and clattering from outside and the train pulled away from King's Cross Station. Beth settled back into her seat comfortably. She had taken the Hogwarts Express to school so many times that it felt like a second home -- or a third, she amended, thinking of the dormitory that she shared with Melissa and the other fifth-year girl, Antigone von Dervish. _Three more years to go_, she thought, and felt an unexpected pang of regret. It had all gone so fast. 

Bruce punched her lightly in the arm. "You can't go to sleep yet, the food cart hasn't come through!" 

She grinned at him. "The highlight of your trip." 

"Well, sure. I mean, _cauldron cakes_. Come on." 

"I haven't had a cauldron cake all summer," Beth said dramatically. "I had to settle for Twinkies and it just wasn't the same." 

The countryside whizzed past, the sky ever darkening. By the time the food cart came around, the day was deeply overcast. Bruce got four boxes of Every Flavor Beans and sat there picking through them for the gruesome flavors, which he put into his pocket. ("For emergencies," he shrugged, sniffing a pale brown one to be sure it was really tree bark.) 

Soon rain began to patter onto the windows. By this time they were nearly there; the catching-up-from-the-summer chat had been dispensed with, and they were eagerly discussing the upcoming year. Nothing seemed more worthy of conversation than the S.S.A. 

"You're going to like Morag," said Mervin, stroking Gina's snout idly with one finger. "I followed him around all last year. He's bright." 

"Blaise too," said Beth. "It'll be a good bunch, just different. Without Vivian and Dell --" She broke off. _And Riggs_, she thought to herself, and she saw the words in the eyes of each of her friends. 

Bruce glanced out of the window suddenly. "Hang on," he said, "is the train slowing down?" 

Mervin looked at his watch. "Wow, good time, we got there half an hour earlier than usual --" 

The train jerked to a halt. Mervin was thrown forward; he put up an anxious hand and caught Gina before she slid from his shoulder. Bruce stood up. "That's really weird --" he began, when the lamps all went out at the same time and darkness encased the compartment. 

Total blackness. 

"Lumos." Bruce had his wand out; it lit the dark compartment with a pale blue light that did not quite reach to the corners. He peered around outside before sitting back down. "Everyone okay?" 

There were three affirmations and an irritated hiss from Gina. 

"All we have to do is wait in here, and the lights will come back on," said Melissa, in a rather higher voice than usual. "We can just wait it out." 

They sat in silence, pale shadows flickering from the light of Bruce's wand. 

"Let's tell ghost stories," said Mervin dourly. 

The door to the compartment slid open. In a flash of lightning, Beth could barely make out the figure of a tall, hooded person: the conductor? There was a noise like a faint sigh. 

It was as if someone had sucked all the warmth out of the room. Beth felt suddenly as if she were drowning in cold; she tucked up her knees to her chest convulsively, wrapping her arms around herself tightly. She found that she couldn't remember who she was sitting with -- friends? She had no friends. She had nothing. 

The wand-light went out -- where had it come from again? -- and the compartment was plunged back into darkness. But wait -- something took form in Beth's vision, something green and flickering ... forms of people ... 

_Shapes of people, hooded people, moving in front of a weirdly green bonfire ... I can't see their faces ... Is that one carrying something? _

They're gone. Where have they gone? This is a different place. But there's that woman, that screaming woman, with the long tattered hair and the eyes so full of fear ... 

Then, abruptly as it had come, the image vanished. 

The sounds of scrabbling came from Beth's right, and suddenly the blue glow of wandlight filled the compartment. Bruce crouched on the ground, holding up his lighted wand worriedly. "Is everyone all right? It's gone ..." 

The sound of a human voice seemed to bring Beth out of her numbness. With growing awareness she saw each of her friends in the compartment, their faces drawn and bathed in blue light. She felt suddenly as if some enormous weight which had fallen onto her shoulders was dumped off all at once. She wanted to shout with relief. 

"L-lumos." Melissa lighted her wand as well. She was huddled back in the corner of the seat; seemingly with great reluctance she uncurled herself and moved closer to the three of them. "What was it? Why did it go?" 

Mervin's eyes were white-ringed. "I n-never ... s-saw ... any-th-thing so ..." He swallowed hard. In one cupped hand, the snake Gina nudged his thumb comfortingly with her tiny head. 

"Get hold of yourself, it's gone now," said Bruce brusquely, standing up. "You're the Charms expert. Light us a fire in case it comes back." 

Wordlessly, Mervin extended a trembling hand and tapped the floor with his wand. A violet flame burst into being at the center of the compartment, consuming nothing, but filling the space with considerably more warmth and cheer. Beth felt her heartbeat speed back up. 

"Flame!" she said suddenly. "I saw green flame ..." she trailed off. 

The overhead lights flickered and came back on. The sounds of cheering could be heard up and down the corridors as a jerk and a shudder told them that the train had started moving again. Mervin extinguished his magical fire a little sheepishly. 

Under the cheery lights, once more traveling towards Hogwarts, Beth found the vestiges of her terror slipping away. _I really ought to remember that dream_, she thought to herself, but a more urgent voice within her said, _Forget it, it was a nightmare, it's all over now_. She looked up at her friends and gave a hesitant grin. 

"Guess it's gone." 

After a minute, they grinned back. 

There was a knock at the compartment door. Reflexively, all four of them jerked away as the door slid open to reveal a tall figure. It came into the light and took the form of a shabby, handsome man in his late thirties. He looked around, concern on his already-worn features. 

"Everyone all right in here?" 

They nodded. 

"Good," he said, looking relieved. "They didn't have time to search every car." He left as inexplicably as he had come. 

Bruce looked at Melissa. "Who was that?" 

Melissa shrugged. "Maybe the driver." She shivered and took Bruce's arm suddenly. "I'm cold. Let's play cards or something." 

They spent the rest of the trip engaged in an increasingly ebullient game of Exploding Snap. Beth felt the coldness and loneliness start to ebb away. It hadn't been that bad, really, she thought to herself. Just a chill and some crazy daydream. 

_But then again, there was the screaming woman ..._

A four of spades blew up in Mervin's face and Beth's reservations were swept away in the laughter. 

***

By the time the Hogwarts Express pulled into Hogsmeade station, they were all feeling much cheerier -- almost as if nothing unusual had happened on the train. Giggling, the four of them huddled together and ran through the freezing rain before cramming into one of the horseless stagecoaches that stood all in a line. 

"Gaah, let me in, it's _freezing_ out here!" 

Aaron Pucey pushed his way into the carriage. He plunked down beside Bruce, his slicker sending rainwater all over the floor. "It was a dark and stormy night," he narrated eerily. Everyone laughed. Aaron Pucey was serious about exactly one thing, and that was Quidditch -- even despite the fact that he could no longer play. 

"Guess what -- I'm the only Pucey at Hogwarts!" Aaron boasted. "I've been looking forward to this for four years." 

"What's Adrian doing?" Bruce asked. 

Aaron grinned. "He wanted to play professional, but after the first seven teams turned him down Mum made him get a real job. He's studying Magi-Mechanical devices -- plans to try and build them. You know, things like the Hogwarts Express." He gestured out the window, then winced in pain. 

"How's your arm?" Beth asked cautiously. He had been the recipient of two bad Quidditch accidents in the past few years; at the end of the previous year, his arm had still been bound up. 

Aaron extended his arm and moved it around in demonstration. It was certainly not as limber as it had been; his motions reminded Beth of her aged and arthritic father. "I did physical therapy all summer, and I've got to keep it up while I'm here. Hurts like the devil." He flexed his fingers slowly. "I can just about write again. My parents got me a Quick-Quotes Quill to use until it gets better. I taught it to spice up class notes with stupid jokes." 

"_Aaron!_" scolded Melissa, as the others busted up laughing. She pursed her lips. "I hope it's not too much of a hassle." 

Aaron shrugged, though his eyes deceived his nonchalant act. "S'all right, I'm getting used to it," he said. "Useful sometimes. I can tell the weather with it, like those old sailors in books. What's that?" He bent his head down to his shoulder as if listening carefully. He looked up. "It says it's raining." 

They bounced along the winding path to the castle. Soon, they could see it coming into sight: majestic with wild spires and towers and enormous arches. _Home_, thought Beth again. 

"Good old Pigzits," said Bruce satisfactorily, leaning out the window to look at the castle that now loomed over them. He crawled back inside the carriage. "I've got to see Marcus right off; I think I've come up with a great new tactic for penalty shots. Beats the Double Eight Loop hollow." 

"Really!" said Aaron eagerly, leaning forward. "They use the Double Eight in the national leagues, and you think you can beat it?" 

Bruce shrugged conspiratorially. "Going to try." 

The carriages came to a halt in front of the great stone steps that lead up to the entrance hall; everyone got out and bustled inside to keep from getting any wetter. Professor McGonagall, head of the Gryffindor house and Transfiguration professor, stood there gazing around over the heads of the crowd. "Someone's on the warpath," muttered Bruce, keeping his head low. 

"Potter! Granger! I want to see you both!" called McGonagall, and Beth looked around in time to see the two Gryffindors peel off from the crowd and follow her down the hall. 

"They couldn't be in trouble already," she gasped. 

Melissa shrugged. "They were by this time last year," she pointed out. "Or was that Potter and Weasley?" 

"I think that was it," said Beth. 

They joined the throng headed into the Great Hall. The enchanted ceiling reflected a dark and clouded sky; the four long tables were set with gleaming gold settings. The three of them went to join the Slytherins at the farthest table. 

When everyone was seated, McGonagall strode to the front of the room and set up the Sorting Hat on its four-legged stool. Beth groaned out loud and a high flush rose in her cheeks. Melissa asked what was wrong. 

"I've got to record the Sorting, and I haven't got a quill!" Beth hissed. She looked around nervously and spotted Aaron Pucey. "Aaron -- you haven't got your Quick-Quotes Quill on you, do you?" 

"Right here. Want to see?" Aaron held out the dark-green quill. 

"I want to borrow it, actually," said Beth. She took the quill and turned it around in her hands. "How do you ..." 

"Suck on the tip," said Aaron. "Then set it down." 

Beth put the pen in her mouth and took a quick sip at the end before laying it onto the napkin, where it rose to its point and hovered expectantly. 

"Aberdyfi, Eileen!" 

Beth looked down at her napkin. The Quick-Quote Quill lurched to life and scrawled: 

_Aberdyfi, Eileen. Why did the chicken ... Ravenclaw!_

"You weren't kidding about the dumb jokes," Beth said to Aaron, as the pen finished describing why, indeed, the chicken had crossed the road. 

He shrugged. "Got to be more interesting than Binns." 

The Sorting went quickly; the first Slytherin was Allison Bole, who was cheered especially hard by her big brother. "Beater," Bruce informed them, pointing him out. "It's his first year on the team. Big and accurate, if a little rough." 

Beth didn't pay much attention to the Sorting -- you've seen one, you've seen them all, she reasoned -- until McGonagall called out: 

"Parsimmer, Louisa!" 

"Did she say Parsimmer?" Beth asked, sitting up straighter. 

"No, she said Parsimmer," Melissa said absently, completely mishearing her. 

The girl was short, with pudgy cheeks and a thick blonde braid. Beth looked closer -- there it was, the "Parson profile", a slightly jutting chin that must have been muted a little by youth and her mother's genes. 

"HUFFLEPUFF!" 

_She's related to me_, Beth thought, as the Hufflepuff table welcomed Louisa. _I wonder how? Cousin? I've never had a cousin._

Before she knew it, the Sorting was finished. "Good, it's time for the food," Bruce said cheerfully. "Oh no -- announcements first --" 

Dumbledore had stood up and was smiling around at the Hall as if each student were his own son or daughter. "Time for an old man's wheezing waffle," muttered Melissa. Beth giggled. 

"Welcome! Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast ..." 

There was a low buzz of confusion as Dumbledore cleared his throat. "I hope the Quidditch pitch is okay," said Bruce worriedly. 

_What do you call a cross between a parrot and a centipede?_ Aaron's quill wrote. 

"As you will all be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business." ("_That's_ what they were!" gasped Melissa.) "They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds, and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission." Beth looked up at the prefects' table long enough to see faint disappointment dart across Richard's face. It was quickly followed by a kind of smug resolution. Beth knew exactly what he was thinking: _If the S.S.A wants to get out, the S.S.A. will get out._ Remembering what had happened on the train, she wondered if she could be so sure. 

"Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises -- or even Invisibility Cloaks," Dumbledore went on. "It is not in the nature of a dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs afoul of the dementors." 

The oldest Weasley boy puffed out his chest importantly in case anyone had missed the Head Boy badge that he wore like a Purple Cross. Richard shot him the faintest of dirty looks. The position should have gone to Randall Riggs, former S.S.A Secretary who, it turned out, had been helping the Dark Lord try to return and kill Harry Potter for the entire previous year. It was still hard for Beth to think about Riggs; he had always been a serious, conscientious boy, not at all what she imagined a Death Eater to look like. _Then again_, she thought to herself, _my brothers don't look like Death Eaters, or my mother._

He gazed around at them, and Beth had the unpleasant suspicion that he was reading all of their minds in turn. Then he smiled. 

"On a happier note, I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year. First, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." He gestured to the man in tattered robes seated to his right. 

"That's the fellow from the train," Bruce muttered. "He looks a mess, doesn't he?" 

There was a very little bit of polite applause that died quickly. Aaron's quill took the opportunity to scrawl: _How many centaurs does it take to light up a wand? None, Mars is especially bright tonight._ When everything had gone quiet again, Dumbledore went on. 

"As to our second new appointment -- Well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs." 

Beth's mouth fell open. "That's not true, we caught him smug--" she sputtered, but Melissa elbowed her hard in the side. 

"No one knows about that," she muttered, close to Beth's ear. 

Beth gritted her teeth. "If there's one thing about the S.S.A., it's that we never get any credit," she hissed back. She never got a response, though: Dumbledore was going ahead with his announcement. 

"I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties." 

The wild cheering from the Gryffindor table was almost enough to mask the shouts of outrage from the Slytherins. 

"_Him?_ He's not even fully qualified! He got kicked _out!_" 

"He doesn't even have a wand, they snapped it in half!" This was from Melissa, who was looking at Hagrid with a kind of disgust. 

"What's he going to do, teach us how to kill off Flesh-Eating Slugs?" 

Dumbledore waited until the Gryffindors had done their cheering ("You'd think they won the House Cup," Bruce muttered mutinously, with a glance at the whooping Weasley twins) and then stretched out his hands as if he wanted to embrace them all. 

"Well, I think that's everything of importance. Let the feast begin!" 

More cheers, and this time it came from all four Houses as the golden dishes before them magically filled up with all sorts of delicious food: pot pie and garlic bread and broccoli and salmon and, oddly enough, a bowl of popcorn. It wasn't as elegant as the food they had eaten at the Ollivanders', but it was more recognizable; and overall, just as good. Better, in fact, Beth thought, because there was only one fork apiece and she was surrounded by chattering students instead of stuffy adults. 

"Thanks for the loan," said Beth, handing Aaron his quill. 

"Sure." Aaron reached out and took it with unsteady fingers, dropped it, and finally put it away with the opposite, uninjured hand. "Neat, huh? What're you going to do with the notes it took?" 

Beth looked guiltily down at her napkin. "Oh -- probably just throw them away," she lied. "Just wanted to see how it worked." 

The feast seemed to fly by. About halfway through Richard came by to grab the plate of baked potatoes. Two of them contained enchanted messages to the new S.S.A inductees; it was an odd tradition that, inexplicably, always worked. Beth was just finishing up a pumpkin tart when the food faded from the plates and Dumbledore shooed them off to bed. Groaning, they rose and followed the familiar path down to the dungeons, where the common room lay hidden behind a blank stone wall. 

"The password's 'Elysium'," called Richard over the heads of the crowd. The stone wall gave way to the Slytherin common room, a long, low area with lots of high-backed chairs and greenish chandeliers. Beth had spent many hours reading at one of the circular tables, or studying in front of the elaborately-carved fireplace -- and even a bit of time sneaking out the tunnel that led to the Forbidden Forest. 

Bruce stretched his arms over his head. "Well, I'm straight off to bed," he yawned, with a little smile. "Sleep well." 

They wished him the same and went back the hall to the girls' dormitories. 

"It's official," said Melissa, as they were snuggling into bed. "We're fifth-years. Think we can take it?" 

"How bad can it be?" asked Beth, and her thoughts were calm and peaceful as she drifted off to sleep. 


	4. Potions and Weasleys

**Chapter Four: Potions and Weasleys**

Beth slept well, which was unusual for her first night in a different place, and got up early enough to dry her hair, which was even more unusual. She came downstairs to find the Slytherin table fighting amongst itself over the value of breakfast: sausages and fried tomatoes. 

"Fried tomatoes? I've never heard of anything more disgusting," Melissa bickered, picking belligerently at the vegetables. 

"Get off it, you've just never given them a chance," Bruce argued back. 

Farther down the table, Antigone von Dervish was turning up her delicately-formed nose at the sausage. "It's nothing but grease. I have no idea how I've survived this long." One of the first-years stopped her fork en route to her mouth and put it down hastily without eating the sausage on the end of it. 

"You look fine to me," Aaron said brightly, biting off half a sausage at one go. Antigone sniffed in his direction and tossed her long blonde hair. 

Richard came over, beaming as usual. "Course schedules for fifth-years! Here you go," he said, plopping a stack of them on Beth's as-of-yet empty plate. He strode away to distribute schedules to the rest of the students. Beth handed around the ones for her year. Hers was no surprise: Care of Magical Creatures, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Arithmancy, and Alchemy II. Then she saw a note at the bottom of the page: 

_

All fifth-years will please report to the Great Hall on Wednesdays at 2:00 p.m. for training   
for the Ordinary Wizarding Levels, beginning this Wednesday after next.   
Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress

_

She turned to tell her classmates about this, but they had already seen. 

"Another class with McGonagall?" Mervin groaned. He had Gina in his front pocket, and she peeked out to look around at the sound of his voice. 

"Oh _no_, we have to learn with everyone," said Melissa. 

"Even Gryffindors?" grunted Warrington. He had grown another several inches over the summer, and bulked up considerably. 

Melissa looked at him. "Yes, Warrington, Gryffindors would fall under the category of 'everyone'." Beth laughed. 

They broke off the traditional gripe session at the sound of commotion coming from the end of the table. A bunch of people had gathered around the person of Draco Malfoy, who was talking animatedly in the center of the group. He was obviously launching into one of his infamous stories -- they were usually insulting, and always hilarious. Beth and Melissa grinned at each other before getting up to go hear what he was saying. 

They arrived at the group just in time to see Draco go into a mock fainting fit, followed by a rather convincing seizure. The students around him roared with laughter. Looking pleased, Draco got back up off the floor and sat down among the third-years. His cool gray eyes flicked to the entrance of the Great Hall. 

"What do you know, here comes Potty now," he said, with some relish. 

They looked over just in time to see Potter and his two shadows pass by, all three stone-faced. "Just ignore him, it's not worth it," the Granger girl was muttering. 

Pansy Parkinson, not to be ignored by any bushy-haired Gryffindor, cried gleefully, "Hey Potter! Potter! The dementors are coming, Potter! _Woooooooo!_" 

Silently, the three Gryffindors filed by and sat down with the Weasley twins at their table. 

"Look at him, cozying up to those paupers," said Draco contemptuously. "I suppose they're all hoping he'll pass along some of his family fortune." 

Pansy looked back at the Gryffindor table and gave a little sniff. "Do it again, Draco," she begged. "I think they're looking this way." 

Grinning, Draco went down into another twitching swoon. 

Blaise Zabini rolled her eyes. "Really, Draco, we've seen it a dozen times. Get a new routine, will you?" 

Draco got up off the floor scowling. "I thought it was rather better that time." 

"It's simply getting old," said Blaise, looking down at her schedule with some superiority. "What've you got at nine, if you're not in Herbology this year?" 

"Arithmancy," said Draco, still in a bit of a pout. "Bet you the Mudblood's in it too." 

"She's so _brainy_," said Pansy, vainly trying to recapture the conversation. "I _do_ hope she's not in Ancient Runes with me." 

"Well, I expect she will be, so you'd better get used to it," Blaise said shortly. She looked at her miffed friend and softened. "At least we've got Divination without them. Come on, I'll share crystal balls with you, or whatever." 

Pansy brightened. "I am looking forward to reading palms, aren't you? I tried to do my own over the summer but it says I ought to have died ten years ago -- oh, here they come again!" she cried suddenly, completely forgetting the conversation. Draco went into his fainting routine as the third-year Gryffindors trouped by, disgust on all their faces. When they had all gone, he got up and took his seat again. 

"See, I told you it keeps getting better." 

"Quite right," Pansy beamed, and Blaise rolled her eyes. 

***

There were no surprises in their first morning of class: they had all of their old classes, and neither of the two new teachers. The highlight of Beth's morning was receiving a new textbook in Alchemy II (_What to Do When You Screw Up Your Brew: Intermediate Alchemy_ by Nicolas Flamel) and looking around to see who had dropped the class after Alchemy I. 

Beth and Melissa reunited at lunch, with stories about their elective classes and the usual griping about how Professor Binns was as dry as ever. They were just in the middle of a really good reminiscence about a time Aaron had melted a Sickle to the floor without Binns ever noticing, when Bruce came from Herbology and plunked down with them, beaming. "Guess what I heard --" he said, ladling a bowl of stew for himself. "The third-years are saying that Harry Potter has the Grim." He looked quite unconcerned. 

"You mean a Grim, like, the big black dog that foretells death?" said Beth, alarmed. 

Bruce nodded mutely, mouth full of stew. 

"That's bad, isn't it?" 

Bruce swallowed and looked at her thoughtfully. "I don't think you heard what I said. _Harry Potter_ has the Grim." He shrugged. "Anyway, I guess Trelawney saw it in his teacup or something, so you know what that prediction's worth." He smiled wanly. "It's just nice to think about, I guess." 

"You don't think he's a _threat_, do you?" Melissa teased. "The Quidditch team's been practicing for a week already." 

"Two weeks," Bruce corrected absently. "I say, if the bugger has the Grim, there's nothing we can do by pitying him and good riddance anyhow." 

They spent lunch speculating who else it would be nice to set a Grim on. The Weasleys were top runners, followed by their obnoxious big brother, Professor McGonagall, and the Gryffindor house in general. 

They had their first Potions lesson right after lunch. 

"Oh no," Beth groaned, as soon as they were in the door of the dungeons. "I forgot." 

Melissa looked at her quizzically, then glanced into the potions laboratory and her countenance fell as far as Beth's. "_Weasleys_," she groaned. 

As far as Beth was concerned, double Potions with the Gryffindors was the bane of her existence and the worst possible scheduling plan. Every year, they had to deal with the prank-happy Weasleys, the outrageously biased Jordan, the smug Chaser, Alicia Spinnet, and any number of their little Gryffindor minions who all hated Professor Snape with a burning passion. Time and time again there were outbursts, battles, hexes, and incidents -- and every year, they were put together again. It wasn't fair. Nor was it wise. 

"Another year, another difficult decision," sighed one of the Weasley twins satisfactorily, as the Slytherins filed in and filled up the chairs on the opposite side of the room. "Who do we spend our energy on annoying - Snape or the Slytherins?" 

"Maybe you could spend it on getting some brains," Melissa snapped. "Wait, I'm sorry, you're not used to spending anything at all, are you?" 

The twins reddened identically. "At least _they_ don't live down in the rat-infested dungeons," Spinnet snapped back. 

"Our common room is _not_ --" Beth began hotly, but just then Professor Snape came in, carrying a large vat. He put it down on the table at the front of the classroom, which grew silent at his presence. 

"I trust," he began, in his soft but pointed voice, "that during these past four years I have finally managed to beat into your brains the twelve uses of dragon's blood. To further prove my point, and to exercise your brains which have no doubt grown slothful over the summer, we will be creating in the coming month twelve potions which utilize these basic properties. Please obtain the following ..." 

He gave them a long list of ingredients and there was a general jostle to get the best-looking specimens from the student cupboard. When the dust had settled, he came around passing out vials of dragon's blood, which he had dipped from the large vat in the front. "I need not remind you that some of these ingredients are worth far more than your lives," he said coldly, passing the Weasleys a vial, "and I ensure you that if one is mistreated, so will the other." 

"Big-nosed git," one of the Weasleys muttered, as soon as he was safely out of hearing range. The Slytherins, however, caught it. 

"Better than the scrawny old bat you have for a head of house," muttered Aaron acidly, slicing pig's tail so as not to look suspicious. 

"You're all right to talk, your mascot's a slimy thing with no legs," Jordan retorted in a hushed voice, dreadlocks flopping. 

"We haven't got a picture of a big fat broad guarding our common room," mumbled Mervin, accidentally sloshing some of the diluted brine in his anger. Gina poked her head out of his shirt pocket and hissed at the Gryffindors. 

"Well, we haven't all got fathers in Azkaban for supporting You-Know-Who," Spinnet hissed back angrily. 

Without warning, Beth slammed down the knife she had been using to dice her cod liver. She picked up a jar of newt eyes, unscrewed the lid, and threw it as hard as she could at Spinnet. Eye of newt went flying all over the classroom; several of them landed in Spinnet's potion, which threw up a terrible stench, and several more got in her hair, which had the pleasing result of a lot of screaming. Unfortunately, the screaming attracted Professor Snape's attention, and he came gliding among them with a familiar glare in his eye. 

"What is the meaning of this?" 

Spinnet pointed a shaking hand at Beth. "She threw ... newt eyes at me!" Her lab partner leaned over and discreetly plucked an eyeball from Spinnet's hair and held it out to Snape for evidence. 

Snape pursed his lips. "Indeed." He turned to Beth. "Miss Parson, is this true?" 

Beth nodded. The full weight of what she had done hit her suddenly, and she ducked her head, running a brilliant blush. 

"Professor, she was _provoked!_" said Melissa angrily, stepping forward. "The Gryffindors were insulting us!" 

There were vehement denials from the Gryffindor half of the classroom, as well as vehement affirmation from the Slytherins. Professor Snape looked back and forth between them before holding up his hands in a gesture of finality. 

"Miss Parson, I have no doubt that you were provoked in your actions. That will be twenty points from Gryffindor." There were barely-concealed shouts of outrage from the other half of the room. "However, I must ask you to stay after and clean up the newts' eyes with which you so effectively littered the room." More complaints, this time from the Slytherins. "Now, carry on, and do attempt to keep your snide comments to yourselves." He gave the Gryffindors his special glare as he said this. 

"But my potion's ruined," protested Spinnet as he swept to the front of the room. He paid her no heed. She stamped her foot in frustration. There was a loud squelching noise and a look of horror came over Spinnet's face. "Oh no --" She lifted up her foot and looked down at the squashed eyeballs below. 

It was possibly the first time that Beth ever heard the Gryffindors and the Slytherins laugh at the same thing. 

Class was tense, to say the least. More than one potion had been hit by the flying newts' eyes; Mervin's threw up a beam of purple light that wouldn't go out until he had fished all the eyes out of his cauldron, and the Weasley twins had enormous fun with the bamboo shoots that started to sprout from theirs. On top of that, it was difficult to move around without stepping on eyeballs, which rolled around indiscriminately and leered up peoples' robes. On the whole, everyone was extremely happy when Professor Snape came around, pronounced them all inept, and let them go for the day. 

As the bell to change classes rang, Beth turned to Melissa. "Help me pick up those eyeballs?" 

Melissa bit her lip and threw a glance at the door. "How long will this take? I've got Ancient Runes and my professor hates it when people are late." 

"Oh go on, I'll clean up," Beth said resignedly. "It was my fault anyhow." 

It took ten minutes to clean up the eye of newt. They were all over the floor, and when she found them, they kept slipping out of her fingers until she had to Summon them all individually. It was with great relief that she finally put the lid on the jar and put it away in the students' supply cabinet. A Scouring charm took care of the squished ones. She was on her way out when Professor Snape's voice stopped her. 

"Miss Parson." 

Filled with dread, Beth turned back around. The Potions Master was seated at his desk at the front of the room. "I'm really sorry," she said again. 

To her surprise, Professor Snape smiled. "I assure you, Miss Parson, there have been many times when I have longed to throw newt eyes at any one of the Gryffindors. Quite apart from your outburst, I have a favor to ask of you." 

"Sure," said Beth, still surprised at having escaped Snape's wrath. "What do you need?" 

Professor Snape pressed his lips together. "You'll recall that early last year, a first-year named Colin Creevey was ... unfortunately ... Petrified by the basilisk in our midst." Beth nodded. "He spent the next several months in an inanimate state. Despite the fact that he experienced no schooling during that time -- and was not an exceptional learner to begin with -- the Headmaster has seen fit to keep him with his year and move him ahead in all classes." His expression showed clearly that he considered this the worst of possible ideas. 

"As I'm sure you can guess, this leaves him with virtually no knowledge of Potions, and at a second-year level, he is at a serious disadvantage. I wonder if you would consent to tutor him until he gets back to the level of his classmates." 

Beth nodded. "Sure, I guess I can," she said. Her relief at avoiding punishment was replaced with doubt. "I've never tutored anyone before --" 

"The material will be fairly simple, first-year level," Snape assured her. "I am certain that you are quite capable." 

"Erm -- all right, then. When should we start?" 

"As soon as possible. I'll leave the times up to you and Mr. Creevey. I expect a weekly report on his progress, and will give you the material accordingly." He pulled out a manila folder and handed it to Beth. "Here is your first lesson. Best of luck, Miss Parson." 

"Thanks," said Beth. It occurred to her that she was going to need it. 

***

Beth wasn't sure what her friends would think of the tutoring arrangement. As she looked over the material Snape had given her, she started to wonder if she was up to the task. She was much too impatient to be a teacher. She had her chance to tell Bruce and Melissa all about it when they met up at the end of the day, at dinner. 

"That's weird," said Melissa, picking at her dinner. "Why wouldn't he get one of the Gryffindors to do it? They'd know the Creepy kid already." 

"Creevey," Beth corrected absently. "You know, this day's been a real bust, when it comes to food." She picked up a spoonful of steak-and-kidney pudding and let it plop back onto her plate. 

"He really likes you, Beth," Bruce mused. He took a bite of food thoughtfully. "That's two or three times now he's got you to do stuff for him. And even after all those eyeballs all over the ground." He stifled a snort of laughter. 

Beth ignored him. "The Gryffindors couldn't know him that much better," she said to Melissa. "He got frozen way back in November. That's the problem -- he's only got two months of schooling in and they moved him ahead anyway." 

Melissa shook her head. "They're crazy. I'll bet he's barely managed 'swish and flick' by now." She frowned suddenly, remembering. "And he's a Mudblood -- Muggle-born," she corrected hastily, with a glance at Beth. "It's not like he'd have any background to work from." 

The third-years came up from the common room then, and sat in a clump at one end of the table. Melissa looked over at them with little interest, then stopped and looked again. 

"Where's Draco?" 

Crabbe and Goyle were huddled together with the other third-years, looking rather lost without their pale friend. All were speaking in excited, hushed voices. Beth and Melissa looked at each other, then leaned in to see what all the interest was about. 

"So we go out to the paddock, and there's these great horrible beasts out there --" Goyle narrated, rubbing his nose excitedly. "And Hagrid says, 'All you have to do is bow to 'em.'" Goyle's impersonation of Hagrid was shoddy but it got the point across. "So Draco bows, goes up to the one -- next thing you know, Draco's on the ground, his arm's bleeding --" 

"Had to be an inch deep," Crabbe added helpfully. 

"Yeah, gash an inch deep in his arm." 

Marcus Flint drew back in horror. "Not his right arm!" 

Goyle nodded. "Yeah, that one." 

"That's his _catching_ arm! How's he going to catch the Snitch with an injury?!?" 

Crabbe and Goyle exchanged dumb looks. "Uh -- his other hand?" Crabbe ventured. 

"I've got to go see him." Marcus stood up, looking slightly panicked. "An injured Seeker -- worst possible --" He hurried away to the infirmary. 

Beth looked over at Bruce anxiously. "This won't hurt the team too much, will it?" 

Bruce's brow was furrowed. "Hope not," he said mildly. "Anyway, you know Marcus -- he'll turn it into an advantage." 

"What kind of advantage is having an injured Seeker?" sniffed Melissa. 

"Slytherin will find a way," said Bruce in mock solemnity, and Beth couldn't help thinking that he was probably right. 


	5. Dumbledore's Commission

**Chapter Five: Dumbledore's Commission**

The school year began, as all of them do, more or less calmly. Beth found that it wasn't hard at all to adjust to the start of the school year; it was as if she had never left. 

There were differences, of course. It was always strange to look up at the prefects' table and see Richard sitting there instead of Riggs. Unlike his predecessor, Richard generally managed to get along with the other prefects, and it wasn't unusual to see him up there laughing or talking with one or more of them. 

The most significant changes, however, were the new teachers. The day after Draco was mauled by the hippogriff, the fifth-years had Care of Magical Creatures with the Gryffindors. ("As usual," grumbled Melissa, crossing her arms.) They met out in the paddock, as instructed, but by the time they got there, all of the hippogriffs but one had been moved out. 

"Where's the hippogriffs, Hagrid?" one of the Weasley twins asked curiously. 

"We were hoping for a ride," added the other one. 

The enormous gamekeeper shook his hairy head. "There'll be no more hippogriffs in this class ... learned me lesson ..." 

Antigone von Dervish sniffed and tossed her long, blonde hair. "If there _aren't_ any more hippogriffs," she said coldly, "_what_ are we doing out here in this disgusting mud?" 

She had a point, Beth thought. 

"Bugger off, von Dervish," said one of the Weasleys dismissively. 

The other chimed in: "Don't listen to her, Hagrid, she's just a pampered snob." 

There were loud complaints and affirmations from both sides, but Hagrid, perhaps emboldened by the twins' words, drew himself up to his full formidable height and said gruffly, "See here, now, as I'll be teachin' I'll decide where we meet. Brought in something else. Thought we ought to start a bit softer ..." 

He trundled around the corner of his hut and came back carrying a bushel basket. He dropped it onto the ground in front of them. Everyone crowded in for a closer look. The basket was crowded with fluffy beige spheres, some of which were vibrating and humming contentedly. 

"Er ... Puffskeins," said Hagrid nervously. 

Snorts of derision rose up from almost all of the Slytherins and even a few Gryffindors. Hagrid looked crushed. "Er ... thought they'd be a mite easier ter handle ..." He trailed off. 

"_I_ think they're marvelous, Hagrid," said Spinnet gallantly. She plunged her hand into the basket and brought out what appeared to be a peach-colored fuzzball. "It's gorgeous." She cast a defiant look at the Slytherins, as if daring them to contradict her. They did. 

"It's boring," said Mervin, leaning over the basket full of Puffskeins. Gina poked her head out of his front pocket and hissed her agreement. 

"It's charming," argued one of the female Gryffindors. "Teach us about them, will you, Hagrid?" 

Hagrid regained some of his composure. "Well -- they'll eat just about anythin', so's not hard ter keep ... er ... Favorite food's bogies, but I'll ask yer not to feed 'em those in class ..." 

There was a smattering of laughter from the Gryffindors, which seemed to bolster Hagrid's confidence even more. "You kin find 'em all over the world," he went on. "They've got this long tongue, see, an' they'll stick it out lookin' for food -- see, there's one wot's doing it --" 

He picked another Puffskein out of the basket. A long, pink tongue was snaking out of from what Beth presumed to be its mouth. The tongue twitched at the ends, as if sniffing around. Gina recoiled in disgust and sank back into Mervin's pocket. Beth watched, fascinated, as the tongue grew six feet to reach the ground, located a dead earthworm, and sucked it back up with apparent relish. 

"See? Not picky eaters, Puffskeins," said Hagrid. 

Jordan had taken the Puffskein from Spinnet and was looking it over from all angles. "What else does it do?" 

"Makes a spanking good Bludger," one of the Weasleys whispered cheerfully, and his brother guffawed loudly. 

Hagrid looked uncomfortable. "Not much else, really." More silence. 

"Perhaps ... we could all try to feed them?" one of the Gryffindor girls suggested. 

"Righ'. Everybody grab a Puffskein an' let's feed 'em," said Hagrid gruffly, with a grateful look at the Gryffindor girl. 

One by one they went up to the basket and pulled out a Puffskein. Beth's was the color of a hen's egg, and kept making a low sort of hum. She had to admit that it was kind of cute. Melissa was derisive. 

"They're _cute_, all right," she said, as they all stood around cuddling the fuzzy creatures. "But good heavens, I had one of these when I was four. I already _know_ how to care for one." 

"Mmm," said Beth, petting her humming Puffskein. "What was its name?" 

Melissa ducked her head. "Murgatroyd," she said, looking embarrassed. "I used to name all of my pets and stuffed animals Murgatroyd. Made it easier, you know." 

The Gryffindor girl was at it again. "So, Hagrid, how do we feed them?" she prompted. 

Hagrid scratched his beard. "They jus' sort of go looking fer food when they're hungry," he admitted. "Jus' -- carry 'em around until they eat somethin'," he instructed the class. 

It was possibly the most boring class of Beth's life. The only interesting point was when her Puffskein shot out its tongue and tried to eat Mervin. Other than that, the deadly dull was revived by the bright sunlight and the comfort of holding something soft and squishy in one's hands. 

At the end of class, Beth put her Puffskein back in the basket with some regret. The boys of Slytherin stood as far back as they could before launching each of their Puffskeins into the basket. ("He ducks the Keeper and SCOOORES! Ten points for Slytherin!" cried Aaron.) They trekked back into the castle arguing over whether it had been boring and pointless (the Slytherins) or boring and pointless, but not bad for a first try (the Gryffindors). 

Fortunately, Professor Lupin wasn't nearly as bad a teacher. After reviewing their previous work, he decided to start them in on a curriculum of dark creatures and countercurses. The first two classes were mostly lecture; that wasn't necessarily bad, since Professor Lupin turned out to be a more energetic teacher than he looked. On the second Thursday in the school year, he turned up in the classroom without his textbook. 

"Put your things away and follow me," he said, nodding towards the door. "We're going to have a practical lesson today." 

He led them down the hall to the teachers' lounge. They crowded inside the narrow, paneled room and circled around Professor Lupin, who stood in front of a large wardrobe. 

"What do you think we're doing?" whispered Melissa excitedly, when the wardrobe gave a loud rattle and shook on its stand. 

"A boggart," said Lupin cheerfully. "It's very comfortable in there; boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces. Now, who can tell me what it looks like?" 

There was a long pause. Then Warrington raised his huge hand slowly. 

"Don't look like nothing," he said, in a low and sullen voice. 

"Quite right!" said Lupin encouragingly, looking pleased. "Take five points to Slytherin. Boggarts only assume a definite shape once they're in the presence of a human. What do they look like then? Anyone?" 

"Whatever the closest person fears the most," said Melissa, with a glance at Warrington. 

"Right again, there's another five points," said Lupin. "Right now, we've got the advantage over it. There are so many of us, it won't be sure what to turn into first. I once saw a boggart who couldn't decide between becoming a dragon or an especially pungent primary-school teacher named Mrs. Smethly. It ended up as a teacher with her hair on fire, and the men hunting it nearly died laughing." He beamed round at them. "That finished the job. Does anyone know why?" 

"Because it's allergic to laughter," said Aaron, in a very sarcastic tone. 

Lupin actually smiled at him. "That's nearly right. Laughter kills a boggart -- no more and no less." 

"There was a boggart in my room once when I was six," Melissa whispered, leaning over to Beth, "and my dad came in and started making funny faces at me until I laughed so hard it disappeared." Beth giggled at the thought of a six-year-old Melissa laughing her head off. 

"Now, I want you all to consider what you fear most, and then think of some way to make it amusing," Lupin went on. There was a round of silence. Beth couldn't really come up with anything. Vague images of movie monsters flitted through her mind ... she thought a little about the shapes she had seen in the Forbidden Forest last year, but those were insubstantial at best ... the sound of the screaming woman rose and fell in her head, but gradually an image began to replace it. She discarded the new thought -- that was impossible, a boggart could never do that -- 

"Ready?" called Lupin cheerfully. "We'll start with you, Fletcher, all right? Wands out!" Everyone stepped back, leaving Mervin closest to the wardrobe. He swallowed hard. "Remember the incantation: _Ridikulus!_" And he flung open the wardrobe door. 

Beth had seen Mervin's greatest fear before, manifested in the mists of the Barren Glen, deep in the Forbidden Forest ... but her heart still rose to her throat when the huge scaly head burst from the wardrobe and rose high, high in the air, atop a serpentine neck, fangs dripping seaweed, eyes the luminous green of a creature who spends its life amid the murkiest depths of lochs and oceans -- 

Mervin stared up at the sea serpent, paralyzed with fear. 

"The incantation!" cried Lupin. 

Mervin raised his wand a very little bit. "Ri -- ri --" The boggart-sea serpent gave a great roar and bowed its head until it was inches from Mervin's face. The words caught in Mervin's throat and he stood there, quaking, until Professor Lupin darted forward and pushed him aside. There was a sharp crack and the sea serpent disappeared, leaving a large crystal ball hanging in the air, which he forced back into the cupboard with a few subtle waves of his wand. Mervin's muscles all gave out at the same time and he slumped into a nearby chair, very white around the mouth. Gina peeked out of his front pocket to see what all the fuss was about. He stroked her head absently. 

"Don't worry -- we'll try it again," said Lupin, in a surprisingly calm voice. "Parson, forward!" 

Beth jumped a little. She still hadn't made up her mind what scared her most. She stepped up to the cupboard. Immediately a kind of scraping came from within -- something was scratching at the door, trying to get out -- and there was a rattling of chains -- 

The door to the wardrobe flew open. There stood a man with shaggy blonde hair and tattered clothing, his wrists cuffed and his feet bare and battered. He lurched toward Beth, hollow eyes fixed on hers. "Bethy, I've got out, Bethy, you've got to help me -- got to hide me -- they're after me, Bethy, it's me, don't you know me, it's your brother, Lycaeon -- help me, Bethy --" 

Beth staggered backward with a jolt, tripped over a chair, and went sprawling to the floor. Her brother loomed over her, wrist chains clanking, still begging in a horrible raspy voice: "Hide me, Bethy, they'll get me --" 

Everything had been wiped from Beth's mind but the scene before her. Her chest felt constricted -- she was breathing hard -- she tried to scramble back, away from the awful vision -- then she heard someone else cry out: 

"Warrington! Forward!" 

Lycaeon whirled around, unkempt hair flying behind him. As Beth watched, his grizzled face smoothed; his sharp chin and beaky nose subsided into pleasant, small features; his hair grew out, became silky and long. Warrington stood nearest to the boggart now, and was staring at it in a sort of dull horror as Beth's brother metamorphosed before their eyes into an exact imitation of Antigone von Dervish. 

The boggart-Antigone tossed her hair. "Really! I would never be seen in Hogsmeade with a stupid brute like you! How dare you even think of asking me!" Her piercing eyes cut right into Warrington, who could only gape dumbly at his worst nightmare come true. 

The real Antigone let out an indignant shriek. Her face had gone bright red. "How _dare_ you -- imitate _me_ --" She stalked toward the boggart, eyes flashing; but as she did, the image of herself began to change. Its skin grew sallow ... the eyes sank back ... the straight figure withered and stooped ... the hair grew stringy and gray. An ugly old hag stared up at the girl. 

"Won't be long before you look like me," she croaked. 

Antigone's eyes got wider and wider at the vision of her aged self. Without warning, she let out a strangled cry and fled from the teachers' lounge, pushing past the withered hag and the rest of the students without a glance back. The hag beamed a toothless smile of victory, and turned toward the rest of the crowd, all of whom jerked backwards as far as they could go. 

Lupin stepped forward and the boggart once again became the suspended crystal ball. Frowning, he forced the boggart into the wardrobe and locked the door. There was a small commotion inside before it settled back down. He pursed his lips and sighed a little before turning back to the class. 

"We'll work on that some more," he said, looking a bit disappointed. "Read the chapter in _Demons and Dementors_, and practice your incantation. Next time it'll go well, you'll be more prepared --" 

"Next time!" spat Bruce. His face was livid. He looked around at Beth on the floor, Warrington standing numb and hurt, Mervin slumped at the desk, and the door that still swung from where Antigone had burst through. "There will _never_ be a next time!" 

And he stormed out of the lounge. 

***

They left the room quietly, not able to look one another in the face. Beth's horror at seeing her brother free and begging for help was replaced with a deep shame. Her darkest fears, deepest secrets, out for her entire class to see -- thank goodness the Gryffindors weren't there, she thought bitterly. Small favor. She could never look any of the Slytherins in the eye again. 

No one spoke for a long time. They went back to the common room in silence and parted. Beth sat by the fire for a while, brooding. How had the boggart seen more deeply into her psyche than Beth herself had ever delved? And what was wrong with her brother getting out of prison? She'd jump for joy to hear that he'd escaped. Wouldn't she? 

"What was he thinking?" an angry voice demanded. Melissa had come and sat beside her. "That was the worst idea ever! Antigone's upstairs sobbing, Warrington's locked himself in the room and won't let anyone else in, heaven knows where Mervin is." She punched the arm of her chair angrily. "How could he do that to us?" 

"You didn't get to see _your_ fear," Beth noted dully. 

"Could've, though," said Melissa. She gazed into the fire. "Could've been any of us, letting our weaknesses out. Poor Warrington. And you -- your brother's dead, but it still came up with something --" 

"He's not dead," whispered Beth. 

There was a pause. "What?" 

"He's not dead. None of them are. They're all three in Azkaban." She couldn't look her friend in the eyes. "Found out two years ago. I guess I -- I was thinking about Sirius Black, and what he must be like after so long --" The words caught in her throat and she stopped talking. 

Melissa was extremely silent. Then she said: "No wonder you flipped out in Potions, when Spinnet said something about having fathers who supported the Dark Lord." 

Beth looked at her hands. "Guess so." 

There was a much longer pause. "Everyone has somebody," Melissa said at last. "My aunt married some fellow named Mulciber and now he's in Azkaban for life. And Evan's dad was a Death Eater, and he's dead. I guess ... I mean ... I'm just trying to say that it's really nothing to be ashamed of," she finished hurriedly. "It's not your fault, you know." 

"I know," Beth whispered. "I just wish --" 

"That nobody else had seen it," finished Melissa. 

They smiled at each other. "Yeah," said Beth. "That's all." 

And that was all they said. 

***

Things were touchy in the Slytherin house for the rest of the day. The fifth-years, usually a close bunch, markedly avoided each other at mealtimes and throughout the evening. All in all, Beth was relieved when Antigone went to bed early, leaving her and Melissa awake by the fireplace. There was another reason that she was pleased: tonight was the first meeting of the S.S.A., and it was impossible to sneak out to the headquarters if non-members were hanging around the common room. 

Melissa went early, to start the meeting with the rest of the members. As secretary, Beth had to wait for a half hour so that she and Richard could lead the new members to the Vase Room. She passed the time by thumbing through a paperback about a young student in a castle who ended up saving everyone around him from the forces of evil and becoming a hero. The book was called Redwall. 

Ten thirty ... eleven ... eleven-thirty. Beth put away her book and went down to the common room. 

Blaise Zabini and Morag MacDougal were there already, seated together by the fire. They weren't speaking. As Beth got closer, she realized that Morag had fallen asleep. 

Blaise looked up sharply at the sound of her footsteps. "I knew it was you," she said softly, before Beth had even reached the fireplace. "You acted so weird all last year." 

Morag stirred and looked blearily up at her. "Help ma baob, what time is't?" he asked. 

"Eleven-thirty," said Beth, with a little smile. She had never heard him speak before; he had a strong Scottish burr, and she found it endearing. "Get on up, it's time to go." 

Blaise remained seated. "Go where?" 

Before Beth could answer, Richard bounced in from the boys' dorms. "I put all the firsties under a sleeping spell," he told Beth cheerfully. Blaise looked alarmed. "That'll get me out of prefect duty tonight at least. Ready, chaps?" he asked the third-years. 

"Where are we going?" Blaise repeated. 

"Aha." Richard laid a finger to the side of his nose. He went to the door of the common room and opened it up. "Out." 

Reluctantly, Blaise and Morag got up and followed him into the dark hallway, Beth bringing up the rear. 

After two full years of sneaking around the castle every Thursday night, Beth had gotten pretty good at avoiding Peeves, Filch, and the rest of the dangers in the darkened corridors. Richard, with an extra year practice, was even better. They managed to navigate the third-years through the empty halls with absolutely no incident. Richard pronounced the password ("Ouch! My toe!") and the door opened up in the bare wall. They ushered in the third-years. 

The first sight of the Vase Room was always impressive. Filled with cauldrons, vats and vases of every size and shape, it was further decorated with shelves of colored glass, low sofas, and a single armchair. The armchair was occupied by Uther Montague, seventh-year Chaser on the Quidditch team. Around the room sat Bruce and Mervin; curly-haired Herne Rudisille; Evan Wilkes, dark and secretive; and Melissa, at the front of the room, behind the podium. As they came in, she moved aside and let Beth take her place behind the podium where the Ledger, the Society's oldest and most valuable tool, rested. 

"Welcome to the Vase Room!" proclaimed Richard. "We are the Society of Slytherin Advancement. In a few minutes your names will be entered into the Ledger as our members for this year ..." 

Beth had heard the speech before, so she took the chance to examine the Ledger before her. Old and dusty, it contained volumes of information about the members, alumni, and Hogwarts; everything an organization would need to solve the mysteries of the castle and each other. She opened up the front cover to the flyleaf on the very inside. 

_Created for the   
Society for Slytherin Advancement   
by   
Tom Marvolo Riddle   
October, 1940_

Tom Marvolo Riddle, she thought. Lord Voldemort. The man who imprisoned my family, who killed Evan's father, who brought distrust onto the Slytherin house, all with promises of power and glory. Those same promises had won over Riggs, and who knows how many others ...? 

"Ready, Beth?" 

She looked up, startled out of her thoughts. Blaise and Morag were now clustered around the podium, Richard hovering over them like a mother hen. Beth leaned up to the Ledger. "New entries." 

The Ledger's dry pages whirled through half of the book and sent up a cloud of dust before settling open to a list of names. "Zorba, Theophiles," was the last entry. 

"I'll need names and ages," said Beth, picking up the quill at the front of the podium. "Morag, you first." 

"Morag MacDougal, of clan MacDougal," said Morag proudly. He leaned over the Ledger to watch her write. "Nigh on fourteen year auld." Beth wrote: 

Morag MacDougal   
Age: 14 

As soon as she took the pen away, the words on the page began to shift around. Drops of ink welled up and skittered around, forming new words, until the entry read: 

Morag MacDougal   
Age: 14   
Current location: The Vase Room, Hogwarts   
Youngest male in the Clan MacDougal. Knows how to Apparate but is unlicensed. Will never be caught wearing the color yellow. Hates all members of the Clan McClintock. Best subject: Charms. Greatly dislikes chicken and chocolate but could eat lemon pudding every day. Born with a clubfoot that was magically corrected. 

Morag's eyes got wide. "Faith, an' it's all aboot me!" 

"True?" asked Blaise, reading the entry beside him. 

Morag nodded dumbly. As soon as the ink stopped shifting, the words sank back into the page and vanished. 

"Where'd it go?" 

"Relocated alphabetically," said Beth. "Back to the M's. Blaise?" 

Blaise looked at the Ledger with distrust. "Blaise Zabini, thirteen." 

Beth entered the information and they watched as the entry filled out and shifted to its new place right above Theophiles Zorba's. 

"Excellent!" Richard rubbed his hands together. "Melissa, you've finished the old business, have you? Let's get started with new business then. Mervin, you say the Triwizard Tournament is still on for next year --" 

There was a noise from the back of the room. 

Richard broke off. The door to the Vase Room creaked open to reveal Albus Dumbledore, barefoot, wearing paisley pajamas and a long maroon nightcap. He came inside, walked through the gathering of students, and sat down on the low divan. 

There was a long pause. 

"Good evening, sir," Richard stammered. 

"And a good evening to you all," Dumbledore beamed. "Aha, I see you've added to your number. Mr. MacDougal, Ms. Zabini, congratulations on your induction." 

"Thank you," said Blaise shyly. Morag nodded, still silent. 

"Can we help you, sir?" Richard asked politely. 

Dumbledore clapped his hands to his knees. "As a matter of fact, you can -- I've come to see you to ask a bit of a favor from the Society. Two, I admit." 

Richard nodded eagerly. "Anything." 

"First, I ask that you _not_ seek out Sirius Black for any reason." 

Richard looked crestfallen. Dumbledore continued: "He is extremely dangerous and the odds of his capture by students, even with ten of you, are astronomical. I realize that it may be tempting -- I'm sure you've heard that he has been sighted near here. Do not seek him out. Your fellow members in the Ministry have been hunting him for weeks, with no avail, and I assure you that they are far more experienced in these matters." He paused. "However, should you see or hear anything relating to Sirius Black, I expect a full and immediate report." 

Richard brightened. "Of course, sir." Beth thought he looked as if he wanted to salute. 

"Thank you, Mr. Shaw." Dumbledore looked around satisfactorily. "Again, I must compliment you on the exquisite decor of your headquarters. A simply ravishing collection of vases." 

"I'm sorry, sir -- what was the second thing you wanted?" 

Dumbledore nodded sagely. "Ah yes, the second request." He peered around at them all through his half-moon shaped glasses. "For that I must divulge information that is not commonly known." 

Something like lust flashed through Richard's eyes. Evan raised an eyebrow. 

"Sirius Black is responsible for more deaths than those thirteen he killed on the day of his arrest," Dumbledore went on. His tone grew very serious. "He was given a great responsibility by the James and Lily Potter -- the parents of Harry -- whom he then betrayed to Voldemort." Blaise and Morag looked at each other nervously at the sound of the name. "He was directly responsible for their deaths and the attempt on Harry's life. I believe that he may be tracking down Mr. Potter to ... you might say ... finish the job." 

Herne raised a hand, his brow furrowed. "So ... if we can't track him down ... what do you want us to do?" 

Dumbledore smiled at the curly-haired boy. "I ask that you keep an eye on Harry. Two years ago I said that it may become necessary to utilize your protection. That time has come. Harry may need help in the coming months, and I would like it if the Society was there to offer it. Oh, you needn't give yourselves away," he added to Mervin, who was looking apprehensive. "Simply ... try to be near him as often as possible. I cannot expect a full, constant vigil, but the presence of one more person could make all the difference in an unexpected situation." 

"We'll do everything we can, sir," said Richard sincerely. 

"That is all that I expect," said Dumbledore. He stood up. "Thank you for allowing me to interrupt your meeting -- I suppose you have a great deal to talk about, having been away all summer. Carry on!" He stepped carefully around the vases, opened the door, and was gone. 

"Crivvens," said Morag, "does that happen often?" 

"Every once in a while," said Richard, his gaze still on the door through which Dumbledore had left. 


	6. More Potions and More Weasleys

**Chapter Six: More Potions and More Weasleys**

The Slytherins, Beth realized, did not have a reputation for being a merry bunch. Certainly they were not the most cooperative group of students in the school, or the most charming, or the most enthusiastic. But she had never seen a classroom so full of cold, glaring hatred as surrounded her now in Defense Against the Dark Arts. 

Everyone had almost gotten over the fiasco with the boggart -- but that was before the Gryffindor third-years started going around, bragging about how their class had not only faced the creature in turn, but done it so successfully that the boggart had been destroyed. As if this wasn't enough humiliation, over the weekend word got around which one of them had delivered the final blow. 

"_Neville Longbottom_," said Bruce, through gritted teeth. "From this point on, no one finds out that we were outdone by that stuttering idiot. _No one._" 

"I certainly wasn't planning to announce it in the Great Hall," said Antigone acidly. 

For the second time in their long history together, the fifth-year Slytherins made a pact among themselves never to mention the incident with the boggart to anyone else. (The first had to do with Antigone, Mervin, and a spell gone badly awry.) Beth thought that it was a rather unnecessary gesture. After all, the code was to never show weakness -- especially when it came in the form of inferiority to Gryffindors. 

Professor Lupin came in, cheerfully carting his battered suitcase and a dog-eared copy of _Demons and Dementors_. He dropped his equipment on the desk and turned to them with his familiar, mild smile. 

"I hope you all read that chapter on boggarts," he said cheerfully. "I thought we'd begin today with a brief quiz covering them. It'll be closed-book, so if you all could --" 

Before he could even finish, Bruce was on his feet. "We are not facing that thing again," he said flatly. "Try to make us, and we have some very powerful fathers who could have you out in a second." 

Professor Lupin looked at him in mild surprise. "I can't force you to do anything, Mr. Bletchley," he said. "The choice to learn will always be your own. Perhaps it was wrong of me to ask you to face such a creature with so little preparation. Nonetheless, I will be bringing no more boggarts into class. 

"However," he added, over rising comments, "part of your final exam will require facing a boggart -- I would be a failure as a teacher if I didn't address such a common Dark creature. Anyone interested in practicing can approach me to set up a private tutoring session." 

It was not what any of them had been expecting. Bruce shifted uncomfortably, then reluctantly sat back down. 

"Everyone will please take out a quill," said Professor Lupin, in a tone of finality. "Your quiz will be written. You have twenty minutes." He flicked his wand and a test paper appeared on each of their desks. 

Beth looked down at her quiz. 

    _What incantation is most effective against boggarts? ______________   
    Please sketch the wrist motion used when administering this boggart-repelling charm.
_

As she was describing the expected results of the Ridikulus charm ("with examples"), Beth couldn't help but dread seeing the vision of her brother again on the final exam. The only consolation was that she would never have to do so in front of her friends -- or enemies. 

***

That afternoon brought a new challenge: the first tutoring session with Colin Creevey. 

Colin turned out to be a very small, nervous-looking boy with mousy brown hair and, for some reason, an enormous camera slung around his neck. They met in Dungeon Five (the location of a disastrous incident concerning frog brains the previous year, Beth remembered) for an extremely simple concoction. She was sort of looking forward to it, if only for the nostalgia value, but Colin looked like being alone in the dungeons with a Slytherin was the last place he wanted to be. 

I bet Professor Snape scares him half to death, Beth thought, grinning, as Colin sat there and fidgeted. She looked through the papers that Professor Snape had left her. "Let's see, it says to start you out with a Boil-Reducing Potion." She looked up at Colin. "Can you remember from last year what the ingredients were?" 

For a moment, Colin just sat there looking terrified. Then he swallowed and screwed up his face. "Um -- I think there were slugs, because the Slytherins kept throwing them at us ..." 

Beth had been about to praise him for his memory, but decided not to after the comment about the Slytherins. "Horned slugs. Go on." 

Colin's eyes were tightly clenched as he struggled to remember the previous year's potions. "Lessee ... I was working with Ginny Weasley, and she ... she said something about the snake fangs ..." 

"What did you do with them?" Beth pressed. 

"Crushed them!" said Colin excitedly. He opened his eyes. "I remember that! And there were weeds, I think, and some pointy things --" 

"Nettles and porcupine quills," Beth corrected dryly. "Not bad. Why don't you look over the formula, and I'll get set up for you to run a batch of it, all right?" 

Colin's face fell. "Do I have to?" 

"Yes," said Beth shortly. "Go on, there's the ingredients list. Pay close attention to what it says about the fire -- you can melt a cauldron if you do it wrong." 

Colin gulped. 

Later, Beth wasn't sure whether it had been Colin's nerves or his ineptitude which turned the lesson into a first-class fiasco. He started out by letting two of his slugs crawl away to freedom, after which he accidentally squished another one with his elbow. Then he lost a snake fang down the front of his shirt (which they never found), set fire to his list of ingredients, and impaled his hand on a porcupine quill and had to sit there sniffling back tears for a full minute while Beth tried to pluck it out with some tweezers. 

After Colin had been bandaged up, he worked for another ten minutes before saying, "I -- I think it's done." 

Beth came and peered into his cauldron. It looked all right., milky and rose-colored, just like it was supposed to be. 

"Does it work?" Colin asked nervously. 

"We'll never know until we test it," Beth said crisply. Colin quailed back, but she pulled out a caged toad and, with a quick hex, gave it a nasty case of boils. Then she dipped a ladleful of the potion and poured it down its throat. 

There was extremely loud *pop*. When the smoke cleared, there sat the toad, croaking contentedly, without a single boil on his body. 

Beth's jaw dropped. "It works," she said, in distinct awe. 

Colin pulled out his camera and took a picture of the toad. 

***

The next day in Potions, Beth approached Professor Snape after class. 

"I tutored Colin yesterday," she reported, handing him the manila folder with Colin's completed work in it. The rest of the class bobbed out of the door, some still feeling the effects of the Weightlessness Elixir they had been concocting. 

"And the results?" asked Professor Snape. 

"Oh -- not bad ..." said Beth. "It all worked out in the end, but in terms of standard lab practice, he's way behind. It's going to take a while to get him up to speed." 

Remarkably, Professor Snape smiled. "I trust that you can instruct even Mr. Creevey in the noble art. Here is your next lesson. Please continue to report to me, and thank you." 

Beth nodded, faintly relieved that he hadn't blamed her for Colin Creevey's failings, and left for Arithmancy. 

When she got to lunch, Melissa was already there, eating quickly and looking excited. She smiled up at Beth. "Ready for this afternoon?" 

Beth fumbled to get her schedule out of her pocket. "What's this afternoon?" 

"The O.W.L.s training, of course!" 

"Oh." Beth had completely forgotten about the tutorial sessions. "What d'you think they'll be like?" 

Melissa shrugged. "Ms. Rowling -- I mean, nobody's ever told us about them. I guess we have to go and find out." 

So that afternoon, the Slytherin fifth-years met in the common room and made their way to the Great Hall. The tables had been cleared to one side and the stage erected that had been used for Professor Lockhart's short-lived dueling club the previous year. The other three Houses were there, each huddled into a corner chattering among themselves. The Weasleys saw them enter and, in unison, started humming ominous music at the top of their lungs. 

Bruce glared at them and muttered something under his breath that Beth was pretty sure she didn't want to hear. 

Professor McGonagall strode to the center of the stage and clapped her hands for attention. She pointed her wand at her throat; Beth wasn't close enough to hear what she said, but when she spoke her voice was magnified enough to be heard throughout the Great Hall. 

"You will assemble at this time every Wednesday for the rest of the year," she barked, voice echoing around the room. "During this time you will have an opportunity to practice hands-on aspects of your education. The material will vary, but you must always bring with you a quill, parchment, and your wand. If anything else is required, either you will be forewarned or it will be provided for you." 

The Slytherins looked at each other; nobody had any parchment with them. They glanced around them; two of the other houses were sporadically prepared, but each of the Ravenclaws had with them at least a ream of parchment. Mervin Summoned one of them while its owner was looking away and spent the rest of McGonagall's speech dividing it between his classmates. 

"This first several sessions will be conducted by Professor Flitwick, as a review of your experience in Charms," said McGonagall crisply, while Mervin tore off another few feet of parchment and passed it over to Aaron. "Please give him your full attention -- or risk losing house points," she added, with a severe glance at the Weasley twins. 

Professor Flitwick clambered onto the stage beside her, where Professor McGonagall loomed over him. He performed the same voice-magnifying spell on himself. 

"I WANT TO START WITH -- GOOD HEAVENS, THAT'S TOO LOUD ISN'T IT?" he squeaked, his high-pitched voice magnified many times over. "ONE MOMENT PLEASE --" 

He readjusted the spell and started again. "Is that better? Ah, good. I want to start with very elementary charms that you are all acquainted with. Wands out now!" 

He started by putting them through something suspiciously reminiscent of their first-year final. Conjuring everyone a feather, he ordered them to levitate it. Soon there were feathers rising all over the room; the Ravenclaws' brushed the ceiling as their owners dueled to get the highest. The Hufflepuffs' floated closer to the ground, and at a much more uniform level as everyone helped each other. The Gryffindors sent their feathers flying around trying to knock each others' out of the air. Melissa got bored and surreptitiously levitated Bruce. 

"Excellent!" squeaked Professor Flitwick. "Something harder now -- a conjuration perhaps --" 

He had them all create a marble from thin air. This was trickier; many of them ended up with cubic or lopsided marbles. Thanks to her Arithmancy, Beth was able to get hers perfectly spherical, but she completely misjudged the texture and ended up creating a blob of Jell-O instead. Gina slithered over and swallowed it. 

By the end of the afternoon, Flitwick had put them through a rigorous review of their first year of Charms work. Although they all groaned and complained that it had been too long ago and they had forgotten everything, Beth found that the review awakened stores of memory that she was certain were long gone. Bruce was less optimistic. 

"Think how much _more_ we have to do," he groaned, on the way back to the common room. "That was the easy stuff, and I didn't get half of it." 

"It's going to be such a pain," Melissa groused, partially for the enjoyment of complaining. "Every week with the Gryffindorks, Huff-and-puffs and the Brainyclaws." 

Nevertheless, the O.W.L.s training was soon an ingrained part of their weekly schedule. As always, the fifth-years fell into a comfortable pattern of classes, meals, practice, and sleep. For the first month, nothing disrupted the system except once in early October, when Lupin fell ill and Professor Snape was forced to substitute-teach a class for him. Bruce was delighted. 

"I can use this in my Divination report," he figured eagerly, scratching a note on the cover of his D.A.D.A. book. "When the full Harvest Moon is in the highest house, and Scorpio reigns, warriors against the dark are susceptible to the flu." 

"Only if they look sick to start with," Melissa added, leaning over to read his scribbles. "None of the other D.A.D.A. profs ever got sick on the full moon." 

"Good thinking," Bruce agreed. He scribbled another line. 

October passed quickly after that, and before Beth realized it, they stood on the brink of the first Hogsmeade weekend. The all-wizarding village near the school was full of interesting shops and stores, and it was always a treat to spend the day there. The Friday before the trip, the Slytherin table bustled with people chattering about what they would do once they got there. 

"I can't wait to actually shop in Gladrags -- can you?" said Pansy Parkinson, snuggling up to Draco Malfoy. "They have a simply splendid line of shoes. Won't it be fun, Draco?" 

To his credit, Draco looked a little repulsed, but he said, "Of course it will," and gave her a brave smile. Pansy beamed at him and took his arm, careful not to brush against the other one which was still wrapped in a sling. 

Blaise Zabini sat with Beth and Melissa, sulking. "Pansy's going with Draco," she reported morosely. "Just so they can go off and be a couple together. Of course, that involves ditching me first." 

"I'll gae wi' ye, ye ken," said Morag brightly. 

Blaise's face fell further. 

"That's awfully rude, leaving you like that," said Beth. "Don't you think, Mel?" 

Melissa looked guilty and started to reply, but before she could, the bell rang to go to class. The fifth-years gathered together and went down to the dungeons for double Potions."You know, Gina's really grown," Beth said thoughtfully to Mervin as they walked. The snake hung around Mervin's neck; since the start of the school year, she had almost doubled in length. Now she was nearly two feet long. "I remember when she was little enough to fit in your front pocket." 

"I like her better like this," said Mervin valiantly, and Gina reached her neck up to give him a little snake-kiss on the cheek. When they entered the dungeons, he took her off and let her slither away along the floor, where she found a mouse-hole and stretched out in front of it, ready to pounce should any of its denizens venture outside. 

They had finished the series on the twelve uses for dragon's blood, to everyone's great relief: the stuff smelled awful, and it was nerve-wracking to work with something so precious. As a follow-up they had moved on to a unit about the many ingredients that could be derived from a unicorn. This was slightly more pleasant, without the noxious tang of blood in the air, but the ingredients were even more expensive. 

"So you must understand that I have assigned your groups to be more ... evenly distributed in terms of maturity," said Professor Snape sweetly. 

The Weasleys, separated for one of the first times in their mutual life, glared at him from different tables. Aaron cast a despairing glance at Mervin and looked back at Warrington, whom he always partnered. Melissa looked equally put out to have to share a cauldron with Bruce. And Beth ... 

Well, she thought valiantly, maybe Antigone isn't that much of a ditz. 

It was an honorable thought, with no justifiable basis. In the first few minutes, Antigone managed to lose three anemone pustules, spill toenails in their oil of boil, and come within inches of sending their cauldron careening off the table. 

"_Honestly!_" Beth snapped, patience at an all-time low. "Neville _Longbottom_ must be a better Potions student than you!" 

Antigone scowled and tossed her hair. There was a terse moment of silence. Then she turned back to Beth with a dangerously sweet smile. "So Beth, you _have_ found someone to go to Hogsmeade with, haven't you?" 

"Huh?" said Beth vaguely, picking toenails out of the oil with a pair of tweezers. 

Antigone tossed her silken blonde hair. "Don't tell me you aren't going with anyone." 

Beth looked up at her in slight astonishment and scowled. "I'm going with Melissa and Bruce -- as usual," she added, to prove that she wasn't a loser now and never had been. 

Antigone only laughed. "Yes, well, I suppose some are simply late bloomers," she sighed, as if to herself, and before Beth could make any sense out of that, Professor Snape had resumed his lecture about the many uses for a unicorn horn. 

They only actually got to use a pinch of powdered horn of a unicorn in the potion, a noxious elixir that could (inexplicably, Beth thought) grow hair on vegetables. The recipe itself was fairly simple; it was fighting off her classmates that was the difficult part. 

"No -- blood of a hanged man _after_ the toad warts, it'll be gummy otherwise," Beth explained patiently, wrenching the vial of blood from Antigone's pretty hands. "Go on and dice that ginseng -- _dice_, not slice -- no, I _swear_ there's a difference -- just make it look like little cubes -- Hold it right there!" she barked suddenly. One of the Weasley twins, poised over her cauldron with a squiggling earthworm in one hand, backed away hastily. 

There was a mild explosion. 

Beth turned back to her partner in despair. "What did you do?" 

"_I_ didn't do anything," said Antigone haughtily, brushing a hair from the shoulder of her sweater. "I simply added the toad warts, like you said." 

Beth looked around at the table in exasperation. "But the toad warts are right over there! And what happened to all the anemone pustules?" 

Antigone shrugged and fiddled with the end of her hair. 

All in all it was an extremely harrowing lesson, and Beth was grateful when Professor Snape came around dipping carrots in their potions to see if they sprouted hair. Melissa and Bruce's carrot produced a few weak bristles. ("I told you there weren't enough pustules," Melissa nattered.) Warrington and one of the Weasleys, in between unconcealed attempts at poisoning one another, had worked on their potion together. It worked exactly as it was supposed to, which was possibly more suspicious than if it had failed. 

"I would never have believed it," Professor Snape said coldly, laying the fuzzy carrot on their desk. He approached Beth and Antigone with a fresh carrot and dipped it into their potion. He held it there for a few seconds, and withdrew ... 

A bunch of grapes. 

Beth gritted her teeth and clamped a hand to her forehead. Without warning, one of the grapes burst, spraying the table with purple goop. There were muffled titters from the Gryffindors. As the slime slid away, Beth could see flashes of orange from beneath the grapes ... 

"Boils," said Professor Snape. "In place of hair, your carrot has grown large purple boils. Miss Parson, how did this happen?" 

Beth looked down at the table and drew a breath. "Well, we mixed up the pustules and toad warts ... I don't think the fire was the right temperature ..." She glanced into the potion. "And I think Antigone dropped a fingernail in it." 

Antigone looked down at her hands and let out a little shriek. "Oh no, you're right!" She snatched up her wand. "_Extensio_." The broken nail sprouted quickly, and Antigone stood there admiring it. 

"Indeed." Professor Snape looked from Beth's anxious face to Antigone's fingernails and back again. "You will need to brew this correctly before the next class period. The dungeons will be available for you on Monday afternoon." 

"All right," said Beth. 

"Whatever," yawned Antigone. 

***

They had baby carrots at lunch, which none of the Slytherins touched because they kept imagining them sprouting hair. After Melissa had finished ranting about having to work with Bruce "who didn't know eye of newt from toe of frog," Beth took the time to tell her about being partnered with Antigone -- which had certainly been no picnic, even compared to working with Bruce. 

"Then I said I was going with you guys, and she said something about being a late bloomer." Beth laughed. "Who knows what goes on in the mind of Antigone von Dervish?" 

Melissa fiddled with her fork. "Er -- yeah. Actually there was something I was meaning to tell you --" Beth looked at her curiously. "I'm not going to be able to spend any time with you at Hogsmeade, Galen asked me to go with him," she said in a rush. "Sorry, he asked me to go with him a week or so ago, I kept meaning to tell you --" 

Beth gaped at her friend in blank astonishment. "'Go with?' What does _that_ mean? People keep saying it, I've never heard it before this year --" 

"Well -- you know --" Melissa shuffled awkwardly. "You go to Hogsmeade with somebody you like." 

"I like a lot of people!" Beth said angrily. "Why do I have to pick one?" 

Melissa let out a sigh and rolled her eyes, looking just like Antigone. "Really, Beth, stop making such a fuss. We've just got to find you a boyfriend before Saturday, that's all." 

"_I don't need a boyfriend!_" Beth exploded. "Aren't friends enough?" And to Melissa's great astonishment, she stormed off. 


	7. Hogsmeade and Halloween

**Chapter Seven: Hogsmeade and Halloween**

Beth steamed all through Arithmancy. 

While Professor Vector was drawing the sine curve that described the potency of certain herbs as time passed, Beth drew up a list of why this whole "going with" someone to Hogsmeade thing was a dumb idea. 

_1. Because you always had fun even without Galen   
2. The more the merrier   
3. You can't get a table for two in the Three Broomsticks_

And so forth. The list grew longer, threatening to take up more room on the page than the actual class notes, which were becoming more and more sloppily recorded. Beth wasn't aware that she was actually scowling, and clutching her pen rather harder than necessary. 

_42. It leaves me with nobody_

Beth stopped suddenly and stared at what she had written. That was the root of it all, wasn't it? If everyone in Hogwarts suddenly began pairing off, she would be left without a partner. 

Beth hadn't spent a lot of her life to that point worrying that she didn't have a boyfriend, but loneliness crept up and crashed onto her as she sat and contemplated her own words. "It leaves me with nobody," she said to herself. 

Roger Davies looked up from the seat beside her, where he had been copying the herb-potency equation. "What are you on about?" he hissed. 

Beth scowled at him. "Nothing I'm going to tell you about," she said, tossing her head. 

Shaking his head, Davies turned away muttering something about Slytherins being touchy. 

Somehow, snapping at the Ravenclaw made Beth feel a little better. She turned the page of her notebook, effectively hiding the poisonous list. Still, as she finally started to focus in on Professor Vector's words, she thought, _I_ won't _be left behind_. Surely, someone would be free to hang around with. She couldn't be left alone. 

Could she? 

***

By dinner the madness had spread. She even heard people from other houses talk about "going with" someone to Hogsmeade: Chang and Diggory, Stebbins and Fawcett, Granger and the littlest Weasley boy. 

"Really, though," drawled Draco, "that's because Potter wasn't smart enough to con those Muggles he lives with into signing his form, so you can't say the Mudblood attracted him." 

"Or the Weasel actually snagged _her_," Pansy added. 

"Why didn't Potter just fake a signature?" Blaise asked, shaking her head as she looked over at the Gryffindor table. "Even a first-year Slytherin would've thought of that." 

"Exactly," said Draco triumphantly. "A Gryffindor would just be too noble to have a good time." 

The third-years laughed and went back to creating dirty theories about Godric Gryffindor and Professor McGonagall. 

Hearing them laugh reminded Beth of the problem at hand: locating someone who wasn't already paired up for the Hogsmeade trip. Out of all of her classmates, she had already determined who would be the least likely guy to have a date. 

She turned to Mervin. "Who are _you_ going with?" 

"Gina," he said, as if that should have been obvious. 

Beth made a noise of impatience. "_Besides_ your snake?" 

"Why would I want to go with anyone else?" he replied blankly. 

She rolled her eyes and turned away from him in disgust. "How about you?" she asked Aaron, on her other side. "You're not going to Hogsmeade with anyone, are you?" 

"Sure, me and some of the Quidditch guys are going to hang out," he said, looking a little alarmed at her belligerent tone. "Why?" 

"_Figures_," said Beth coldly, without answering his question. 

Aaron looked at Mervin in bewilderment. "What'd I say?" 

"I think she's jealous of Gina," said Mervin, with some superiority. 

"I am _not_ jealous of Gina," said Beth hotly, "or Mel or Antigone or Pansy or _anybody_ else for that matter, I'm just trying to find somebody who's not going to Hogsmeade with somebody else, so I don't have to hang out in the Three Broomsticks all by myself like a complete loser!" 

The sound of her voice had risen as she went on, and Beth suddenly realized that she was close to throwing a tantrum. She quieted down immediately, but not before Antigone turned away with a smug little smile. 

"Cripes, Beth," said Aaron, in a tone of surprise, "why don't you just go with Bruce?" 

She stared at him. Why hadn't she thought of that? He'd want to hang out with the Quidditch team, sure, but he'd leave them for her if she asked. Things looked better suddenly. "Good idea," she said to Aaron, and got up and moved down the table to where Bruce sat idly munching a corned beef sandwich. 

She slid in beside him, and Bruce acknowledged her with a flick of his head. 

"Going to Hogsmeade then, Bruce?" Beth asked brightly, trying to lead into it casually. 

"Yeah -- have to," said Bruce uncomfortably. 

Something was unsettling about the way he said it. "Why's that?" said Beth, with growing suspicion. 

"Er ... Blaise asked me to go." He ducked his head, then looked up at her hopefully. "Want to come?" 

Beth threw up her hands. "I can't now, you've already got a date!" 

"It's not a date -- I mean how do you say no --" 

"Never mind, just don't worry about it," said Beth, completely frustrated. "I'll just lurk in a corner of the Three Broomsticks by myself -- maybe hook up with some of the third-year Hufflepuffs --" 

Antigone von Dervish slid into the seat beside her, lithe and smug. "You could ask Neville Longbottom," she suggested, in a tone of purest innocence. "Oh -- I'm sorry, no -- he'll be spending time with some of his Herbology friends ... That's unfortunate, isn't it? You seem to be the only one in the school without a partner. Well, perhaps when the second-years move up a grade ..." 

"What do you _want_, Antigone?" Beth broke in angrily. 

Antigone's pretty eyes narrowed. "Only to say that I may not be a potions expert like you, but I can at least get a date." She got up and strode away, hips swinging haughtily. 

Beth watched her go. "Some good Potions is doing me," she said to herself, in disgust. 

"I mean it, Beth, I can skip out on Blaise if you want --" 

"Oh, go away, Bruce." 

She got up and stormed out of the Great Hall. She had never imagined that going to Hogsmeade -- the happiest place on earth, for heaven's sake -- would be this much of a trial. She stalked past a pair of Ravenclaws, a portrait which quailed under her glare, and Mervin, who had skipped out of dinner early to help his pet snake hunt down mice. 

Mervin! 

It was time for desperate measures. Beth turned on her heel, grabbed the red-haired boy by the front of the shirt, and slammed him against the wall. 

"You are coming with me to Hogsmeade," she snarled. 

To Beth's slight discomfort, the terror in Mervin's eyes didn't fade much. "Uh -- okay." 

She let go of him. "Thanks." She turned and started to leave. 

He called after her: "So is it ... like a date?" 

"I don't care," she roared over her shoulder, and went back to dinner. 

***

The third-years were all excited about their first trip to Hogsmeade Village. Beth was slightly irritated. 

For one thing, Mervin paid a lot more attention to his pet snake Gina than to her. For another, everyone they passed kept giving them knowing looks, which infuriated Beth and which Mervin did not notice. Finally, it turned out that all Mervin had really wanted to do was study in the Three Broomsticks, so she endured several hours of talk about Ancient Runes and numerous winks and nudges from the Weasley twins, who could not keep their freckled noses out of anyone else's business. 

The end of the day didn't come soon enough, and Beth was just about to write off the day as a wasted one when Bruce came panting up. 

"Finally shook off Blaise," he grinned. "Come on, let's go back and dig into that Halloween feast!" And he clambered into the coach beside them. 

Not two minutes later, Melissa dashed up and climbed in with them. "I left Galen with his friends," she confessed. "You don't mind if I ride back with you?" 

Beth was too glad to see her to hold a grudge. 

The Halloween Feast was every bit as good as it had been previously. Happy and tired from the Hogsmeade visit, the fifth-years finished up the day by stuffing themselves with food and throwing things at the Hufflepuff table when no one was looking. Aaron Pucey, with his uninjured arm, was able to get half of a crumpet to stick to Cedric Diggory's hat, and for that he became the hero of the evening. 

The entertainment that year was given by the ghosts of the castle -- with the notable exceptions of Peeves, who had been forbidden from attending for the seventeenth year running, and the Bloody Baron, who merely loomed near the Slytherin table and made everyone nervous. The partially-decapitated Gryffindor ghost, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, got wild applause with a stage production of his own death. 

"Nearly Headless Nick's all right," muttered Bruce, as Sir Nicholas bludgeoned himself with a ghostly axe, "but what I'd _really_ pay to see is Completely Headless Potter." 

Beth had to put her head down in her arms, she laughed so hard. 

All too soon, the feast was over, and students began to filter back to their dormitories. Beth said goodnight to Bruce in the common room and went upstairs with Melissa. Despite all her worries about Hogsmeade, it had ended up being a pretty good day. 

"You know, it's been a while since we had a nice, quiet Halloween," said Melissa, as they were getting ready for bed. "Last year with the whole Chamber of Secrets thing, and before that, with the --" she looked around to make sure Antigone wasn't listening too closely "-- the forbidden corridor, and the troll. I feel like we ought to get attacked, or something." 

"Something dramatic," Beth agreed cheerfully. "I dunno, it's kind of nice to have a relaxing Halloween for once." She climbed into bed. "See you tomorrow." 

She drew the curtains around her four-poster and lay down sleepily. Before long, the lights were shut off and silence descended on the room as all three of them slowly began to slip away into tired, happy dreams. It had been a long day -- a good one, by the time it ended, but a long and tiring one, to be sure -- 

There was a piercing shriek. 

At first Beth thought it was the screaming woman again; she almost fell out of bed before she realized it was Antigone, sitting up in bed with the covers clutched around her. The lights snapped on. 

There stood Richard, looked embarrassed but intent in a pair of striped pajamas and a purple dressing gown. He had his prefect badge in one hand. 

"Snape says we've all got to go to the Great Hall immediately," he said, his voice urgent but apologetic. "Dumbledore's orders. Just come as you are." He left, then poked his head back in the doorway. "Better bring your pillows." 


	8. The Haunting of Hogwarts

**Chapter Eight: The Haunting of Hogwarts**

The common room was a mass of confusion. Richard stood at the door, holding it open and ushering people through. "Come on, hurry up, it'll all be explained when you get there -- no, Bole, you can't bring your iguana -- it's disgusting, that's why -- Just stay together, go straight to the Great Hall, I'll be in shortly ..." 

"What's going on?" Beth muttered, as she and Melissa filtered past clutching their pillows. 

"Don't tell, there'll be a panic," he muttered back quickly, "but Sirius Black was here in the castle." He raised his voice so that everyone else could hear him again. "Quickly now, it'll all be explained --" 

Beth and Melissa only had time to glance at each other in wide-eyed surprise before they were swept along in the tide of people. When they came out into the Great Hall, it was already half-full of students, some fully clothed, others, like themselves, in pajamas. The Gryffindors were all still wearing their school uniforms, and a crowd seemed to be forming around them. 

Professor Dumbledore appeared in their midst, looking worried but calm. "The teachers and I need to conduct a thorough search of the castle," he announced, over the buzzing of whispers. "I'm afraid that, for your own safety, you will have to spend the night here. I want the prefects to stand guard over the entrances of the hall and I am leaving the Head Boy and Girl in charge." 

He turned to the two, standing at attention beside him, and said something that Beth couldn't make out. Dumbledore began to leave, then turned back around, saying, "Oh, yes, and you'll be needing ..." 

A few brief flicks of his wand sent the tables careening out of the way. An enormous load of purple sleeping bags appeared from nowhere and thudded into a pile in the middle of the Great Hall. 

"Sleep well!" said Dumbledore cheerfully, and he swept away. 

The muted chatter rose into a roar as the Gryffindors started telling the story to anyone who would listen -- which at that point was everyone. The oldest Weasley shouted something officiously, which no one listened to, and stalked away in a huff. Beth and Melissa, still clutching their pillows, hurried over to where Richard had positioned himself at the mouth of the corridor that led to the dungeons. 

"What are we doing? We have to meet," Beth mumbled, once they were within earshot. 

"There's no way we can get out of here tonight," Richard replied, barely moving his mouth. His eyes kept darting around the background, watching people grab sleeping bags and pull them against the walls. "Just go find a spot near Potter. Like Dumbledore said -- we just have to protect Potter." 

They nodded and went to get sleeping bags. Potter and his friends had holed up in one corner, so they took up a spot a few yards to his right. Looking around, they saw Bruce and Uther positioned a few feet to Potter's left, and Evan not far from them. 

They settled down into their sleeping bags. The folks nearby were still discussing what had happened. 

"... And when they got there, the portrait outside their common room was all slashed up, its subject had run away," Cedric Diggory narrated to a small group of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. "Peeves showed up and told them it was Sirius Black." 

"How'd he know?" someone asked. 

Diggory shrugged. "Probably watched it happen. You know Peeves." 

Beth spoke up for the first time, and they all turned to look at her. "How did he get in?" 

"Maybe he knows how to Apparate," said Cho Chang. She was sitting cross-legged beside Diggory, a few feet away from Potter. "Just appear out of thin air, you know." 

"Disguised himself, probably," said Diggory. 

A Gryffindor third-year suggested something about flying. 

"You can't just fly in," said Melissa, and several places down Granger was saying the very same thing. "There are invisible barriers the whole way round. He had to come in some way that's unprotected." She shot Beth a meaningful look. There were a dozen ways to get into and out of the castle without being seen: the passage behind the statue of the hag, the tunnel leading out of the Slytherin common room, the hall that went from the broom shed to the statue of Gregory the Smarmy, to name a scant few. Beth had been in all three of those and never been caught. She had thought that only the S.S.A. knew about them, but wasn't it possible that Sirius Black had found out somehow as well? He _had_ been a student, after all ... 

The oldest Weasley was shouting something else now in the center of the room. Beth only caught the last bit of it: "... and no more talking!" 

Immediately, all the candles went out, and the Great Hall was plunged into darkness. Gradually Beth's eyes adjusted; it wasn't so bad, really, with the ghosts providing a pale luminescence as they bobbed about. 

The excited babble died down as the oldest Weasley stalked around giving talkers the evil eye. Beth and Melissa stretched out in their sleeping bags, too alert to really go to sleep. 

"We really ought to be in the Vase Room," muttered Beth. "We could be prowling around too." 

"Or the Ledger might know how he could have got in," Melissa replied, in barely a whisper. "Or maybe it knows something about him -- we don't even know what house he was in --" 

"No talking!" a pompous voice snapped. Beth looked up to see the oldest Weasley scowling down at them. "There are students who want to sleep, you're simply being rude." 

"You're being much louder than us," Melissa pointed out irritably. 

A high flush rose in the Weasley's cheeks until his face almost matched his hair. "You'll quiet down now, or I'll take points from your house," he barked. "Disrespecting a Head Boy, I never ... it's for the safety of us all ..." 

Beth and Melissa lay there glaring at him until he stalked away to break up a couple in the opposite corner. "Arrogant prat," Melissa spat. "He's the worst of the family, and that's saying a lot." 

Silently, Beth rose up on her elbows and surveyed the room. Some of the younger students really were trying to sleep; apart from a few surreptitious make-out sessions, almost everyone was at least laying still. The prefects were each guarding an entrance; above them, the ghosts floated about talking softly to one another, occasionally coming down to chat with a prefect or the Head Boy or Girl. 

She looked over at Richard. He was deep in a quiet conversation with the Bloody Baron, looking serious and responsible even in his pajamas. "It must be killing him to just stand there," she muttered to Melissa. Suddenly Richard grabbed his forearm convulsively and the Baron floated away chuckling. Looking embarrassed, Richard started pacing around officiously in the doorway. 

Beth lay down on her stomach and snuggled farther into her sleeping bag. It was going to be a long night, she was sure. All to keep Potter safe ... what had he ever done, she thought, but be born lucky somehow? This was the hope of the world, a scrawny kid who didn't even know how he had accomplished his most famous feat? 

A terrible sound came to Beth's ears. 

Screaming. 

And more screaming. 

Every muscle suddenly tense, she rose up on her elbows and strained her eyes in the darkness. It wasn't in the room, though -- the sound was coming from outside, just as it had before. _If I go to the window,_ Beth thought, in cold panic, _and I look down at the grounds, I will see a woman with tattered white hair, eyes rolling in fright, mouth open in that perpetual, horrible scream --_

"You all right?" muttered Melissa. 

"Do you hear that?" Beth asked breathlessly. She turned to her friend, eyes wide. 

Melissa looked at her uncomfortably. "Hear what?" 

Beth looked around at the room anxiously. The screaming echoed in her ears and in her head. "That -- awful --" 

Melissa shook her head slowly. "No ... are you all right?" she asked again. 

No one else in the room seemed to be at all disturbed by the sound; whether sleeping or simply laying still, all was silent and calm. Wait -- in the corner -- a small figure was half-sitting, long hair in disarray. Beth couldn't tell who it was, but even from across the Great Hall she could tell that the eyes were wide and frightened. 

"No!" Beth hissed. "No, there's someone screaming out there! Can't you hear it?" 

"I said no talking!" an officious voice snapped. "That will be five points from Slytherin, and another ten if I have to come over here and tell you again!" 

There stood the oldest Weasley, glaring down at her. Beth looked up at him, speechless. She could hardly make out what he was saying over the wild screams. Abruptly, the screaming stopped. _The silence was deafening,_ Beth thought, and she fought back a hysterical giggle. 

"We're being quiet," said Melissa sullenly. "Beth had a bad dream, is all." She nudged Beth's arm, and they both sank back down to the ground. Once the Weasley left, they rolled over to face one another. 

"It's quiet now," said Beth. She felt weak, as if she had just set down a heavy stone. 

"It must have been awful," Melissa said sympathetically. 

Beth looked at Melissa. "Mel," she said softly, "you know as well as I do that I wasn't asleep." 

Paying no heed to Melissa's startled expression, Beth rolled over and lay there for a long time before sleep came to her. 

***

Despite the fact that she didn't get to sleep until three in the morning, Beth was one of the first ones awake when the bright morning sunlight began to stream into the Great Hall. She stretched, cleaned herself up as well as she could, and sat on top of her sleeping bag. It was amusing to watch students wake up one by one and try to figure out where they were. In the bright rays of the sun, the screaming woman seemed farther away, more unreal. 

_I could have been snoozing without knowing it,_ Beth argued to herself. _I do it all the time in Binns' class._ But the other voice in her mind replied, That's the third time you've seen her. She's not just a dream. 

Richard came up to her. There were dark circles under his eyes -- Beth guessed that the prefects had stayed up all night -- but he looked characteristically peppy. "It's all right to go back to the dorms," he told her cheerfully. "They've looked the place over, and Black's nowhere in sight. The ghosts and teachers couldn't find anything." 

She stood up, and Richard leaned in to her ear and whispered: 

"But maybe the Society can." 

It's hard to concentrate on what a man is saying when you're distracted by how good he smells, Beth thought absurdly. "When can we meet?" she whispered back. 

"Tonight." Richard sounded positively gleeful. His breath was warm on her cheek. "Absolutely tonight. This is our year -- I can feel it." 

Beth nodded. She drew away from him with some reluctance and bent to gather up her sleeping bag, but it had already vanished. Richard went off to spread the word among other wakening Slytherins. Deciding that Melissa had a right to sleep as long as she pleased, Beth padded down to the dormitories and was drying her hair after a long, hot shower before anyone else even came into the girls' bedroom. 

By the time nine o'clock rolled around, everyone had been awakened in the Great Hall and the long tables restored to their original positions. As if to make up for the long night, the house-elf cooks sent up an elaborate continental breakfast filled with warm pastries and delicious juices. Beth went upstairs and helped herself to a mango éclair. She was just sitting there, kind of blandly, not really thinking about anything, when a group of Hufflepuffs passed by the Slytherin table. Idly, she picked up the tail-end of their conversation. 

"... just screaming, I dunno, I thought I was going mad ..." 

"You _might've_ been. _I_ didn't hear anything." 

"Well, it was there -- loud and clear --" 

Beth sat straight up and looked around for the speaker, but before she could see who had spoken, Bruce came and plopped down beside her. 

"Long night, huh, Beth?" he asked cheerfully, loading his plate full of square, daintily-iced pastries. 

"Hush -- I'm listening --" 

But the Hufflepuffs had passed, without leaving a clue as to who else had heard the screaming. 

Disappointed, Beth slumped back into her seat. "Now I've missed it." 

"Spying on the Hufflepuffs? Not much to miss, is there?" Bruce swallowed a large croissant seemingly in one gulp. "I mean, they're not exactly a hotbed of scandal, are they?" 

"I thought someone else -- oh, never mind," said Beth crossly. She took a bite of her éclair and chewed thoughtfully. On a whim, she said, "You didn't hear anything ... weird, last night, did you?" 

Bruce furrowed his brow. "You know, I did." 

Beth's heart leapt in her throat. "Really? Around ... what, one o'clock?" she asked eagerly. 

"No, way later than that." Bruce took a long gulp of boysenberry juice. "Uther talks in his sleep. Something about Acromantulas. Weirdest thing you ever heard." 

Beth's shoulders slumped. "Oh." 

The Hall was filled with hoots and rustling feathers as the daily flock of owls brought in the morning's mail. The Daily Prophet plunked down beside Beth's éclair. She took it and was halfheartedly untying the twine when another letter found its way to her plate. 

She put down the Prophet and picked up the letter. It was from her father. 

_    Bethy:   
    I just wanted to see how your year was going and make sure you were all right. Send a reply as soon as possible so that I know you're all right, just to ease my old mind.
_

The rest of the letter was brief, with a few pieces of news from home and best wishes for the rest of the school year. Beth smiled, then folded up the letter and put it in her pocket before digging back into the Daily Prophet. 

"Who's your letter from?" asked Melissa, sitting down on Beth's other side. Her hair was a mess, but she looked bright and refreshed. 

"Just my dad," said Beth, handing Bruce the sports section. "Wanted to know how I was." 

"He does that a lot these days," Melissa said offhandedly. She grabbed a big cream-filled pastry. "Check up on you, I mean." 

"He's just getting old," sighed Beth, not really feeling up to getting defensive. "Anyway, I'm all he's got." 

"Hmm." Melissa bit into her pastry but made no comment. 

Bruce let out a whoop and crunched the newspaper in his hand. "Pride of Portree topped the Ballycastle Bats four hundred to ten!" There was a smattering of cheers and groans from the Quidditch team. 

Melissa rolled her eyes. "Quid-heads." She took a bite of her pastry. "Hey, what was up with you last night?" 

"What --oh." Beth's face fell. "I heard that screaming woman again. She must have been outside the castle." 

Melissa looked at her silently for a moment. Then she said carefully, "You know, Beth -- I didn't hear anything last night." 

"I know." Beth paused. "Someone did, though. Some Hufflepuff." 

"Which one?" 

"If I knew, I'd have told you," said Beth irritably. She sighed. "Anyway, it's gone now." 

"Right," said Melissa, sounding relieved. 

Beth looked up at her best friend. All at once it hit her: Melissa didn't believe her. After all that, she still thought that Beth had heard no more than the phantom of a nightmare. For a moment, Beth wanted to grab her by the shoulders and scream that it had been real, every time. She looked down at her plate and resisted the urge. And there was always the chance that it _had_ been a dream ... 

"Can I see the Prophet?" asked Melissa. "They're running a series on London's most famous wizards, and I want to see if I know any of them." 

Beth handed over the newspaper without a word. 

***

Some people were unnerved, even frightened by the break-in. Richard was positively in his element. Here was a job for the Society -- sanctioned by Dumbledore -- that involved nothing more than sneaking around the castle and using the resources in the Vase Room, which they did all the time anyway. Moreover, figuring out Sirius Black's entry method was something they would get credit for, as a house. "House points!" Richard had raved earlier that day. "Special awards! _Glory,_ for once! We have _got_ to figure this out!" 

"How, though?" asked Blaise Zabini, when they were all assembled in the Vase Room at eleven-thirty that night. "I don't know anything about the castle. Do you?" 

Uther raised his eyebrows. "A bit," he said smugly, putting his arms behind his head. 

"The Ledger does," Beth told her, shooting a withering glance at Uther. 

"Actually, it doesn't," Richard said unexpectedly. "The corridors of the castle have been recorded elsewhere." 

Without another word, he went over to the wall of the Vase Room. Reaching up, he grabbed a cord that Beth had never seen before and yanked it down. A large parchment unrolled on the wall, like a broad portrait. It was a map. 

"Here we are," Richard said, using his wand as a pointer. "There's the common room. There are eight ways out of here -- some lead to the grounds, some to Hogsmeade, some the Forbidden Forest. Records from past members show that Filch knows about at least three of them, so he'll have checked those during the search. That leaves this one --" he tapped the map, and a tunnel appeared in glowing red "-- from the common room to the Forbidden Forest, this one behind the Gregory the Smarmy statue that goes to the broom shed, the one from the Whomping Willow to the Shrieking Shack, the one behind that big mirror on the fourth floor that ends up by the lake, and the one behind the hag statue that comes out in Honeydukes' basement." (Morag's eyes lit up.) 

"He can't have used the one from the common room," Melissa argued. "He'd have to know the spot of ground that it comes out on." 

"Anyway, how would he know about it if he wasn't a Slytherin?" Beth added. 

"Couldn't have been the Whomping Willow one either," said Bruce thoughtfully. "How'd you get into it? The willow's nasty." 

"That'd get him past the dementors, but not into the castle," Mervin agreed. "Anyway, I've tried a dozen times to break into the Shrieking Shack, and unless he knows something I don't, it can't be done. That tunnel's useless." 

Evan looked up at the map coolly. "Are you sure there are only eight?" 

Everyone turned to look at him. 

"Are you sure there are only eight?" he repeated. He was leaning against one of the tallest vases, arms crossed, with that infuriatingly smug, closed expression on his face. "How do we know? Does the _Ledger_ say so?" 

Richard gritted his teeth. "No, the Ledger _doesn't_ say." He took a breath. "I suppose you'd have us all go around looking for more ways out of the castle." 

Evan shrugged. 

"All right, all right, everybody go look for secret passageways!" said Richard, raising his arms in exasperation. "Just don't get caught! You're all dismissed -- I've got to get back on duty, after all that fuss I wouldn't be surprised if the firsties start waking up with nightmares about Sirius Black stabbing them to death!" 


	9. Research and Revelations

**Chapter Nine: Research and Realizations**

When school went back in session on Monday, it was hard to find someone who didn't want to talk about the break-in. In Transfiguration, students kept asking McGonagall about what she had seen until she threatened them with a pop quiz and some rather nasty metamorphoses. Professor Flitwick grew so tired of the chatter in Charms that he cast a Silencing Spell on them, and even then notes were passed with abandon. About the only class where there was no talk of Sirius Black was Potions: Professor Snape had such a grave presence (and such a difficult lab for them) that for an hour at least, the conversation was subdued. 

Theories ran around like headless cattle. Among the Slytherins it became popularly believed that Black was living with the werewolves in the Forbidden Forest. (The theory that he was in fact in love with a werewolf surfaced.) Some third-year Hufflepuff was going around raving about how Black could turn himself into a flowering shrub. Peeves, never one to miss an opportunity, began swooping down on passing students from behind, screaming, "It's Sirius Black, with a knife! Run, my pretties, run!" and then zoomed away, cackling insanely, just as they realized it had been him. 

The S.S.A. got nowhere in their search for another passageway out of the castle. Mervin found out from a house elf how to get into the kitchens, and came back beaming with arms full of meat pies, but his was the only breakthrough. "It's very possible that there aren't any more," Richard said at the meeting that week, with a smug sort of glance at Evan. "The former members really did their homework. I mean, look at what they've already got. I wouldn't be surprised if they've found them all already." 

The study sessions with Colin Creevey were going no better. He seemed to have some kind of mental block against learning Potions. What was worse, he had nothing better to talk about than the antics of one Harry Potter. 

"He wasn't allowed to go to Hogsmeade," he babbled cheerfully, Potions notes lying forgotten on the table in front of them. "He was going to play cards with us, but he had some homework to do in the library." 

"How notable," Beth said, glancing over his badly-botched homework. She was starting to see what Professor Snape had to put up with. 

"I've still got his pictures from last year," Colin went on. "There's the one of him and Lockhart, and the one of him after winning the Quidditch match -- that's the one where he broke his arm, it was gruesome -- and the one during the --" 

"_Potions,_" Beth said in exasperation. "If you can just tell me the ingredients of a Forgetfulness potion, we can both go home happy." 

"Good, I can go watch Quidditch practice!" said Colin enthusiastically. He scrunched up his face. "There's ginkgo biloba --" 

"In order," Beth pressed. 

"All right, all right." Colin took a deep breath. "First you put in the water and powdered toenail and boil it. Then you put in dried rosemary ..." 

"How much?" 

"A ... cup?" 

"A teaspoon. What next?" 

"Uh -- liver of, uh, newt --" 

"_Salamander,_ Colin." 

"Liver of salamander -- then you let it boil, _then_ you put in the ginkgo biloba." 

"Right so far, but now all you've got is a pretty good memory charm. What reverses it?" 

Colin thought hard. Then his eyes lit up. "Ash shavings!" 

"Exactly!" As difficult as he was to work with, Beth had to admit that Colin was kind of cute when he got something right. "You're getting better at this." 

"Think so?" 

"Yeah." An evil idea crossed Beth's mind. "I'll bet Harry will be really proud." 

Colin's eyes grew as wide as saucers. "_Really?_" 

"Yup. If you hurry, I bet you can go catch him just as he's leaving for Quidditch practice." 

"All _right!_" Colin scrambled to gather his stuff together and ran out the door. "Hey, thanks! See you next week!" 

"See you!" called Beth cheerfully. The thought of Potter trying to prepare for practice while detaching Colin Creevey was a pleasant one, and when Potter arrived at dinner looking exhausted and annoyed, she felt the warm glow of a job well done. 

The Slytherin/Gryffindor Quidditch match was set for Saturday; uncharacteristically, the team wasn't practicing any harder than usual. When Bruce plunked down beside her and dug into the baked chicken, she asked why. 

Bruce frowned. "Because we're not playing on Saturday." 

"What? Why not?" 

"Lower your voice! No one's supposed to know." Bruce started picking the meat off of his chicken. "It's Marcus's new game plan. We say that Draco's still injured and can't play. That way the game schedule shifts and throws the Gryffindors for a loop, since they're practicing as if they were going to play us." He didn't look especially pleased with the strategy. "He only just went and told Wood about it this afternoon, and the game's in two days." 

Beth looked down the table at Draco, whose right arm was still bound up in a sling. "Is he still injured?" 

Bruce shrugged. "More or less. He's a good enough actor to pull it off if anybody checks, that's the thing." 

"You're probably right," Beth agreed, thinking of Draco's innumerable mimicries. "He could go professional, and tour the country putting on Potter impersonations." 

***

Marcus's strategy of backing out of the match was, unfortunately, a failure on at least one front: the Gryffindors had heard by Thursday night that they wouldn't be playing the Slytherins on Saturday. In Hagrid's class Friday morning ("Puffskeins 101", it was being called), the Weasleys and their cult had much to say about what a dirty trick it was, how Draco was obviously healed by now, the way that Slytherin would be trampled even if the game was months away, et cetera ad nauseum. 

"Leave off it!" bellowed Bruce, hurling his Puffskein at the angry twins. It bounced off one of their foreheads and fell squeaking to the ground. "It's not like all fifty of us sat down in the common room and took a vote on it!" 

"They were probably too busy sacrificing children at the time," Jordan said, brandishing his Puffskein like a Bludger. 

All in all it was a tense and uninteresting lesson, and the Slytherins were grateful to leave behind Care of Magical Creatures and head inside for Defense Against the Dark Arts, griping about the Weasleys and their entire demographic. The Gryffindor-bashing hastily stopped as the teacher came in and strode to the front of the class ... 

But it wasn't Professor Lupin. 

"Is Lupin sick again?" asked Warrington. 

"Well surmised," said Professor Snape acidly. He flipped idly through a copy of _Demons and Dementors_ before picking up the class syllabus. "Once again I am forced to pick up the reins for a man who is _periodically_ unable to fulfill his duties." 

"You know more about the Dark Arts anyway," said Aaron, from the back of the room. 

Professor Snape acknowledged the flattery with a very small smile. "I am afraid that the judgment of that rests with Headmaster Dumbledore," he said, in a tight voice. He scowled down at the syllabus. "Hexes and Dark Creatures ... well, well ... You should have had a grounding in the Forbidden Curses by now. What, if anything, have you been studying to this point?" 

Melissa raised her hand. "Sir, we have a paper on countercurses due on Monday," she wheedled. "I wonder if we could take the class time to, eh ... work on it?" 

The rest of her class immediately picked up on her cue. "It's a frightfully long paper," Antigone pouted cutely, winding a strand of blond hair around one long finger and looking up at Professor Snape with big eyes. 

"Right, if we work on it now we have more time to work on Potions," added Mervin hastily. 

"Why waste two hours on Lupin when we can only waste one?" Bruce reasoned. 

Professor Snape's eyes glinted, and if anything he looked downright pleased with them. "Very well. Class is dismissed." 

And he strode out the door. 

Had they not been afraid of getting caught, the class would have erupted into cheers. 

***

With class cancelled, Beth, Melissa and Bruce intended to take a stroll around the lake; unfortunately, it had begun to rain, so Melissa took them upstairs to see the new portrait -- a knight who simultaneously challenged all three to a duel -- guarding the Gryffindor tower. Afterward they went to the Great Hall for lunch, arriving at just the time they would have if they were coming from class and not an hour of free time. 

"Proves your theory," Melissa pointed out once they were seated, chewing absently on a celery stick. 

"Hunh?" asked Bruce, immersed in a gargantuan club sandwich. 

She pointed the celery stick at him. "The one about the full moon under Scorpio making D.A.D.A. profs sick. For Trelawney, remember?" 

Bruce nodded thoughtfully. "Huh, guess so." 

There was a minute or so of silence broken only by the sounds of chewing and the rumble of thunder overhead. Then Beth said, "Wonder what he's got, anyway?" 

Melissa shrugged. 

Another lull in conversation. Without warning, Bruce went into a fit of coughing. Melissa whacked him on the back until a small chunk of lunchmeat flew out of his mouth and landed on the front of Mervin's shirt, where it was quickly dispatched by Gina. 

"Are you all right?" Beth asked in alarm. 

Bruce looked up at them, eyes bright. "I've just realized something," he said, sounding a bit awed. "I've got to double-check it -- but I'm pretty sure --" 

"Pretty sure?" Beth repeated. 

"Yeah, I studied them all last year, didn't I?" Bruce said absently. He jumped up from the table and dashed out the door. 

Mervin watched him go. "And you say I'm weird," he told Melissa. Gina nodded smugly and slithered across the table to attack Bruce's abandoned hard-boiled egg. 

***

Bruce showed up at classes but disappeared again immediately afterwards. That made Aaron very excited. 

"I'll bet he's come up with some brilliant new Quidditch move!" he babbled eagerly, after watching Bruce bolt out of Transfiguration. "He's the best Keeper we've had since at least Don Cutheart, and that was back when my _Dad_ played for Slytherin." 

Awe was expressed at this incomprehensible length of time. 

As it went, Beth had a ton of Alchemy II homework that was a day late, so she didn't really miss Bruce's presence that evening in the library. When Madame Pince kicked everyone out at nine o'clock, Beth reconvened in the common room and sat up until eleven finishing problems and cursing herself for waiting so long to do them. 

She was just double-checking her results on the final question ("_Describe, with examples, the difference between an infusion and a solution_") when a truly weird sound reached her ears: it was like the long, high note of a trumpet, or a crow's caw. She looked around. By now she was quite alone in the common room, and the only sound up until then had been her own breathing. 

She went back to her work, but the sound went on and on. Beth was reminded of the fire alarm back in her primary school back in America. It was an ear-splitting racket, and it always sounded like someone ... 

A cold horror dropped onto Beth's shoulders. 

It sounded like someone screaming ... 

From a long distance away. 

Beth leapt to her feet, books spilling out of her lap. She raced to the door of the common room and tore it open. The volume instantly doubled, and Beth could hear the ululation of a very real human voice over the sound of rain pattering on the roof. 

She made her decision in a moment. Closing the door behind her, she ducked into the dark hallway and began to run. Somewhere, somewhere in Hogwarts there was a woman in white, screaming wordlessly, a woman who no one else could see. Panting, Beth followed the noise through halls and corridors, stumbling up staircases and past sleeping paintings or suits of armor that watched her with curious detachment. The noise grew louder as she bolted into the Great Hall and between the long tables. She came out in the Entrance Hall, gasping for breath. It was outside -- it was just outside the door -- 

Over the wild shrieks and falling rain came another sound. 

A meow. 

Beth turned to see Mrs. Norris crouched at her ankles, yellow eyes luminous and malignant in the moonlight. She didn't take time to think. Beth shot out a foot and caught the caretaker's cat below the ribcage. Mrs. Norris went flying, howling her indignation, and would have probably landed on her feet had she not first gone crashing into the wall. Senseless, the cat sank down into a wiry gray mound and was still. 

Beth whirled back to the broad doors. Too late she realized that they must have been magically locked; she couldn't budge them. She ran to a window. She had only time for a glance of wind-tossed white hair and wild eyes before the vision vanished and there was nothing but rain and lightning. 

Staggered, Beth stared out at the grounds, unable to completely believe that the woman was gone and the evening sky was silent but for the purr of thunder. _Why me?_ she thought to herself, in cold despair. _Who_ is _she?_

She looked at Mrs. Norris lying crumpled by the wall. "Oh _no,_" she said aloud. Then she ran. 

Harming Mrs. Norris was the most wished-for and least acted-upon desire of almost everyone in the school. It was easily the biggest crime that Beth had ever done. Filch was going to find her, get her for this ... he wasn't going to stop at the detentions or the shackles, either, he was going to _kill_ her ... 

A shadow flickered in the corner of Beth's eye and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Panic-stricken, she whirled toward the shadow, expecting to see Filch or McGonagall or -- hey, why not -- the entire school bearing down on her. 

She didn't. 

There stood a small figure, surely no more than eleven, in a school cloak. Lightning crashed outside, and a flicker of light glinted on blonde hair and a round, fearful face. For a little while, the figure stood there and stared at Beth. Then it ducked into a door concealed behind a potted plant and was gone. 

Beth would have stayed and stared longer, but the sound of boots echoing in the distance made her turn on her heels and bolt down to the common room. 

She darted inside and slammed the door, panting. She leaned against the door heavily. How long could this go on? But there was someone else who heard it, someone else who knew ... 

Beth took her place by the fire again, but made no move to pick up her books. Instead she watched the flames flicker in the cold stone fireplace. She knew now who she would have to talk to if she ever wanted an answer about the woman in white -- because in that one flash of lightning, Beth was sure she had seen the face of the relative that she had never met -- the first-year Hufflepuff, Louisa Parsimmer. 

She stared into the fire as the night went on and on. 


	10. A Boring Chapter Title

**Chapter Ten: Quidditch, Dumbledore and Hogsmeade**

Beth awoke with a start. It was seven in the morning; she still sat in front of the fireplace in the common room, which had died down to a pile of ashes. At first she wasn't entirely sure what she was doing there; but as she struggled to sit up she remembered the shrieking woman, and the long night that had followed. Her heart sank. She forced herself to go up to the dorms and take a shower before class, all the while brooding about the unexplained haunting. 

Unfortunately, the shower did nothing to wake her up, and it was a tired, disturbed girl who stumbled into breakfast an hour later. She tripped on some first-years, considered apologizing but decided not to, endured a little abuse from their upperclass housemates, and sank into the seat beside Melissa without saying a word. The rain had worsened overnight into a howling gale; the weather was always something of a surprise for the Slytherins, whose underground common room had no windows or connection to the outside. The overcast sky did nothing to improve Beth's mood. 

"How was Alchemy?" asked Melissa, who had gotten eight hours of rest undisturbed by a wailing ghost, for which Beth hated her. 

Beth grunted. 

"Get any sleep?" 

"Little." Beth gulped an entire cup of coffee before she felt like she could speak coherently. "She showed up again." 

Melissa looked at her quizzically. "Who?" 

"The woman, the screaming --" 

Before Beth even finished what she was saying, Bruce burst into the Great Hall and practically vaulted into a chair across from Melissa. "I was right," he said triumphantly. He banged a large book down onto the table and several unwary breakfasters jumped. "I just had to check and be sure, but I was so right." 

"Unh?" said Beth, who was still bleary. Melissa, involved with her cinnamon roll, made no reply. 

Bruce leaned in towards them. "Don't tell anyone," he said, in almost inaudible tone, "but Professor Lupin is a werewolf." 

All the sleepiness fled from Beth's brain in one cold jolt of horror. Melissa dropped her fork and stared up at him, eyes white with terror. "A -- you mean, a --" she stammered. 

Bruce held out the book, _The Way of the Werewolf_ by Fenris Garnier, and nodded silently. "I followed him all yesterday, just to be sure. He's got almost all of the symptoms." 

Beth sat back in her chair, breakfast and the wailing woman completely forgotten. "What do we do?" she whispered. 

Bruce wore a look of grim resolve. "Dumbledore told us to report any danger we found," he murmured back. "I'm going to clear it with Richard, and then we're going to tell Dumbledore." 

***

Richard was dumbfounded by the news. Once they had picked him back up off the floor, he agreed wholeheartedly that Dumbledore had to be told -- and immediately. 

"We _never_ tell anyone until it's too late," he said fervently. "Like about the basilisk -- or Kettleburn -- or when we heard Quirrell in the Shrieking Shack -- we're not going to make that mistake again. We are telling him today. Three in the afternoon, after the Quidditch game." 

Between the screaming woman and Bruce's revelation, Beth had completely forgotten about the game -- Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff, that very morning. "Can we wait that long?" she demanded impatiently. 

"He only transforms when the moon's out," Richard reasoned. "He'll be human all day. Besides, Dumbledore will probably show up at the match, to cheer on the Gryffindors." 

So, reluctantly, Beth trudged down to the Quidditch pitch with the other S.S.A members. The wind was vicious and November-cold rain slushed sideways, evading their umbrellas and soaking pretty much everybody. 

"Glad this isn't us, eh?" Uther called gaily over the raging storm, slapping Bruce heartily on the back. "We can thank Marcus for that!" 

Bruce acknowledged him with a brusque nod. 

The wind howled so fiercely that they had to shout to make themselves heard. "What's Dumbledore going to do to Lupin?" Beth nearly bellowed at Melissa, certain that no one else would be able to hear her words over the gale. 

"Chuck him out, probably!" Melissa shouted back cheerfully. "Turn him in to the Ministry! There might even be some reward money for bringing in a werewolf!" 

Beth knew perfectly well that Melissa came from one of the richest wizarding families in England and had no need for a few Galleons of reward money; still, the accompanying glory would be well worthwhile. 

Lee Jordan's voice, usually enthusiastic and booming, was barely audible over the screeching storm. If it hadn't been for the cheering of the crowd, the Slytherins would have never known when to boo the Gryffindors. Then the Hufflepuffs came out, and Bruce leaned over, yelling, "Listen close, we don't know who's their new captain yet!" 

Above the rain, Beth could almost make out Lee Jordan. "... Chaser Summers ... Stebbins ... new Seeker and Captain, Cedric Diggory!" The cheering of the Hufflepuffs was washed away in the wind. 

Huddled together under a mostly ineffective umbrella, the S.S.A. members exchanged disturbed looks. Only they knew that the year before, Diggory had invoked a potion that promised recognition, power, ability -- in exchange for a preternaturally short life. "A few years of glory over a lifetime of mediocrity," Evan Wilkes had said then, and it seemed to be coming true. 

Aaron Pucey, who wasn't in on the secret, leaned over to them. "How'd he get to be captain?" he roared. "He's only played one game with them! And he's not built like a Seeker at all!" He grinned even as rain streaked down his face. "Hufflepuff's really lost it this time." 

"Or they've been manipulated," Melissa said to herself, so quietly that Beth could only read her lips. 

The game had started while they spoke; once they did notice, it was hard to tell what was going on in the rain. "Glad it's not us!" Uther boomed again, as a Gryffindor Chaser zoomed wearily past the stands, soaked from head to toe. 

Gryffindor pulled ahead despite the conditions, and by the first time-out they were ahead by fifty points. "Marcus's strategy didn't work," Bruce called, looking somewhat smug. 

There was a clap of thunder and lightning streaked the sky. Melissa looked up worriedly at the steel tip of her bumbershoot, a word that in this case means "mostly ineffective umbrella". She must have decided that the towers and top of the stands -- and players -- were more likely to get hit, because she left it up. 

The game resumed, and the lightning got worse. Neither Potter or Diggory looked like they had any idea where the Snitch was, although for some reason Potter was flying more deliberately. Without warning, Potter turned on a dime and hurtled toward Diggory, far across the field. The crowd cheered ... and then grew silent. 

Beth suddenly felt very cold. Around her, she saw her friends tense up and look around, frightened expressions on their faces. Blank despair settled on her heart. She recognized the feeling, even though she had only experienced it once, and had enough time to look down to where faces turned and trembling fingers pointed ... 

Scores of dementors lined the edges of the pitch, faces raised at the crowd and the players, and Beth could almost hear the chilling noise of air being sucked into their hidden mouths. Then her sight seemed to cloud over, she couldn't make sense of what she heard any more, and once more the visions came ... 

_Green flame, people in hoods, some kind of pain -- and a voice that was oddly familiar -- _

The woman screams and her mouth is an icy cave. There is no green flame now, only white tattered cloth and white twisted hair, and the wide screaming mouth -- 

Beth sank onto the bench, senseless to the world around her. All was the woman and the green fire, flickering flames and whirling white hair, and she had no friends, no hope and no future -- 

Abruptly the visions fled. Beth woke with a jolt and found herself staring into the rain, water running down her face, gasping for breath. All around her, her classmates were gaping in various degrees of relief and panic. In the interest of saving face, they recovered themselves quickly -- but Beth still felt weak and frightened. 

She looked around. The players had all landed and were gathered around one spot in the field. A tall figure -- with his flowing hair, unmistakably Dumbledore, was with them. The dementors were nowhere in sight. 

"What happened?" she asked breathlessly. 

"Let's get inside," said Melissa. 

It wasn't long before the common room was tracked through with mud and rainwater. Everyone made a beeline for their dorms to get dried off. While they were changing into dry clothes and brushing out soaked (and in Beth's case, tangled) hair, Melissa described what she had seen of the end of the match. 

"Potter and Diggory were both flying towards each other -- the Snitch must've been in the middle -- when Potter looks around, stops short and falls off his broom. Fifty feet. I thought he was a goner. Dumbledore ran onto the field -- Potter hit kind of slow, it must've been a spell -- and then he shot this silver light at the dementors." 

Beth shuddered. 

"They all ran away and everybody went to see if Potter was dead. He must not've been, Dumbledore looked calm." 

"Pity," said Antigone from the other side of the room. She was doing her hair but hadn't changed yet; probably she enjoyed the attention that her wet robes earned her. 

"I saw that green flame again," Beth said absently, sitting on the edge of her bed. "The screaming woman too." 

Melissa made a noise of impatience. "Really, Beth, you _must_ get over that. _I've_ never seen her ..." 

"And that makes her imaginary," Beth finished, suddenly angry. "I've been dreaming her this whole time. Just do me a favor and let me know when I wake up, will you?" She gave her hair one more furious brush and stalked down to the common room to wait for Bruce and Richard. After all, they still had to see Dumbledore about Professor Lupin's "illness". 

When three o'clock came around, however, Richard found himself called away for a meeting with Professor Snape. 

"Just go," he told them, looking harried. "We've missed this full moon, but we can't afford to miss another!" 

So Beth, Melissa, and Bruce, trouped up the stairs to Dumbledore's office and stood before him. Since Bruce had made the discovery, and knew the most about it, he was the one to speak. 

"Professor Lupin is a werewolf." 

Dumbledore peered at Bruce over the rim of his half-moon glasses. "Thank you, Mr. Bletchey, I was already aware of that." 

Bruce looked like he'd been slapped in the face. "You ... knew?" 

Dumbledore nodded briskly. "Certainly. I have, in fact, been aware of Professor Lupin's condition for at least twenty years." He chuckled. "It is a bit more obvious than he believes it to be." 

Bruce was still standing there as if stunned. "So you're -- letting him stay?" 

"Of course. I invited him to come." Dumbledore smiled as Bruce's jaw dropped further. Then he grew serious. "I can assure you, Mr. Bletchley, his lycanthropy is well in hand. Professor Snape has been concocting him a potion to help relieve the more dangerous aspects of his disease -- a recent medical development, remarkable really. He is completely harmless as long as he continues to take this potion." He settled back in his chair, looking thoughtful. "From what the students have told me, he is one of the best, certainly the most popular, Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we have had here at Hogwarts for quite some time. It would be a shame if he were forced into early retirement." His bright eyes met Bruce's gaze calmly. 

Slowly, Bruce nodded. "We -- we won't tell." He glanced back at the others for confirmation. They stared back at him dumbly. 

***

They left the office in silence. 

Suddenly Bruce burst out. "He already knew!" 

Beth started to laugh. "The one time we come up with useful information and actually _tell_ someone -- it's old news!" 

"Of course," Melissa snorted, as they came up to the common room. "The omniscience of Dumbledore. You know, I don't think he's as smart as they say he is. So far he's hired a Death Eater, a complete idiot and a smuggler, not to mention this so-called harmless werewolf. What next -- an escaped prisoner?" 

"Dumbledore trusts him," Beth pointed out, lamely. 

Melissa tossed her head. "I don't care. Lupin brought in that awful boggart, he can't be all good. I don't know about you, but I'm keeping very close track of the lunar cycle from now on." 

They went into the common room. Richard was sitting by the fire, great anticipation on his face. As soon as he saw them come in, he bounded up. "How did it go?" 

"He already knew," said Bruce dully, and the expression on Richard's face made Beth want to both laugh her head off and give him a comforting hug. 

***

Aside from the appearance of the dementors, the Gryffindor/Hufflepuff game had excellent implications. The defeat of the Gryffindors was more than Marcus Flint could have hoped for; he and the rest of the team were ecstatic. Draco finally took the bandages off of his arm and perfected an impersonation of Potter falling off of his broom. Even better, it turned out that Potter's Nimbus Two Thousand had been destroyed in the storm. Although the Slytherins' 2001 models were better anyway, it was still good to know that Potter had been reduced to using the second-rate school brooms. 

Professor Lupin made no mention of his illness after he returned. It was eerie to sit in class and realize that their mild-mannered teacher became a ravening beast once a month; eerier still was the thought that so few people knew about it. True to their promise, the third-years kept their mouths shut on the subject, although the entire S.S.A. was informed along with strict instructions not to go wandering around at night on the full moon, just in case. 

Thankfully, the screaming woman only reappeared in Beth's dreams. 

The winter progressed and the weather got worse until Christmas was almost upon them. Beth's father sent her a letter several times a month, always "just to check up". He had never done so that often; she assumed that he was just getting older, and forgetting all about the letters once he sent them. Hufflepuff was mauled by Ravenclaw in the last Quidditch match of the term, putting Ravenclaw very temporarily in first place. Beth was pleased. It proved that even if Cedric Diggory had magically enhanced his own abilities, he could still be defeated. 

On the very last Wednesday before Christmas break, word went out that there was another Hogsmeade trip on the way. 

Melissa was going with Galen. 

Bruce had been asked to go by Blaise again, and apparently didn't have enough guts to turn her down. 

Pansy and Draco were attached at the hip and making plans to hold court in the Three Broomsticks. 

Even Morag had been waylaid by his fellow third-year Millicent Bulstrode, who it turned out enjoyed a good game of Creaothceann almost as much as he did. 

Which left Beth once again alone. 

As a last resort, she turned to Mervin. He had made plans with Aaron and Warrington to hunt down and hog-tie the Weasley twins, which would be an all-day venture. By this time, Gina had sprouted to a respectable four feet long and was likely to be useful in their plot. And no, Beth couldn't come along. 

"Fine!" she roared, chucking her Transfiguration book across the room. It bounced off of Vincent Crabbe, who looked down at it dully and then went back to pulling the legs off of a dragonfly. "Fine, I'll just stay here! I've been there a hundred times anyway!" 

So the next morning, while the rest of her class bustled out of the common room excitedly clutching scarves around their necks and babbling about anticipated good times, Beth sat in front of the fireplace and tried very hard to look interested in her paperback. 

"Sure you don't want me to drop Galen?" Melissa said on her way out. 

"Go away," Beth growled. Right then, she didn't want Galen to be dropped, she wanted him dead. 

Antigone stopped by just long enough to whisper, "Have a good time," and then she was off, silky hair streaming out behind her, on the arm of some handsome upperclassman. 

Soon they were all gone and Beth was left behind in the silence. 

She read in relative peace for about fifteen minutes before she was distracted by youthful chatter, and then she remembered: 

To be left alone was one thing. She was left alone _with the first and second years._

It was going to be such a long day. 

Beth was almost ready to pack it up and go back to bed when someone wandered up behind her chair. She looked up, eyes shooting daggers. 

It was Richard. He had obviously just woken up: his hair was disheveled, and his eyes were still rather droopy. "Hi," said Beth, more out of surprise than anything. 

"Oh, hallo," he said mildly, plunking down into the chair beside her. "Staying behind, are you?" 

"How clever of you to notice," she snapped, and immediately regretted her harsh tone. She tried to make it up by saying quickly, "What about you, why're you here?" 

"Have to be," he reminded her, and let out a huge yawn. "In the job description -- the prefect has to stay home and make sure all the littl'uns don't go and overthrow Dumbledore or something. I don't blame you for sitting it out though. Hogsmeade does get a bit old after awhile, doesn't it?" 

"Er ... right," said Beth. 

She read her book absently while Richard conjured himself some very strong coffee. When he had finished it off and regained his usual chipper demeanor, he turned back to her. 

"I've got the use of the school brooms today -- going to set up the kids with a game to keep them occupied. If you're not busy, would you like to come?" 

Beth looked down at her book and then back up at Richard's still-messy hair and overconfident grin. 

"All right then." 

***

Outside it was bitter cold, and the snow piled high on the grounds. Aside from the space around Hagrid's paddock, which housed the single remaining Hippogriff, the snow was mostly unbroken -- glistening and white, it was a wide and inviting expanse, begging to be torn into and made into snowballs. 

Which is exactly what they did. 

The "game" Richard came up with was like Quidditch with nothing but Bludgers. Bobbing around on the shoddy and unpredictable school broomsticks, they broke into two teams and pelted each other with snowballs. Anyone who fell off their broomstick was out and started providing ammunition for everyone else. Beth went out fairly quickly, being a much larger target than just about anybody, but she ran around providing snowballs for the rest of her team and even managed to take out Richard from the ground. 

The game was interrupted when they saw a bunch of underclass Hufflepuffs walking around, and the two sides were immediately united in an air attack against them. The Hufflepuffs were driven back into the castle and didn't come back out all day. The Slytherins put their brooms back in the shed, happy, tired, and triumphant. 

After everyone had tramped back into the common room (trailing snow, which drove Mr. Filch to a satisfying tantrum) and changed out of their soaking clothes, the underclassmen dispersed to play games or just sit around sleepily and reminisce about how terrified the Hufflepuffs had been. 

Beth challenged Richard to wizards' chess. She lost both games to him, but that was mostly because she kept taking the advice of her right-hand bishop. (He was slightly cracked from being dropped and sometimes forgot that he was only allowed to move diagonally.) 

At the end of the day the two of them sat around the fire and made tea, then facetiously tried to read their fortunes in the very un-magical tea leaves. According to their readings, Beth was in danger of being murdered by mice and Richard was going to inherit a fortune from a very large elf. 

"I knew saving him from a rampaging dragon would come in handy," said Richard grandly. 

"Maybe he can protect me from the mice," said Beth. 

The door to the common room swung open and the room was suddenly filled with older students, eagerly chatting about the Hogsmeade trip. Beth had almost forgotten about it, between the snowball fight and the afternoon with Richard. She looked around at her friends. All of them were finely coated in snow -- apparently it had picked back up during the afternoon. Bruce was alone but looking furtive -- he had probably just escaped from Blaise. Aaron, Mervin and Warrington were triumphant. Beth wondered if the Weasleys were still tied up. Melissa was Galen-free and came bustling over. 

"Merry Christmas," said Melissa, stuffing a bag into Beth's hand. It was full of sugar quills, her favorite treat from Honeydukes. "How was your day?" Melissa asked warily. 

Beth looked up at her, considering. Then she smiled. "It was good. Yeah. It was good." 


	11. Christmas and Clabberts

**Chapter Eleven: Christmas and Clabberts**

The Hogsmeade trip was the last major school event before the Christmas holidays. The day afterward, almost everyone in the school packed up and went home for Christmas. The Hogwarts Express was full -- Beth's entire class was there, with the exception of Aaron Pucey, and they had a good time singing Christmas carols loud enough to annoy the Hufflepuffs in the adjacent compartment. 

Beth spent the next several days at home engaging in traditional holiday events with her father. There was decorating, cooking, napping, visiting, much mailing of Christmas cards by both postman and owl, and general merriment. At Mr. Parson's insistence, Beth rolled an enormous lopsided snowman in the front yard, to which her father added coal eyes, a carrot nose, and -- mischievously -- Lycaeon's old broomstick. The broomstick hovered upright near the snowman's left arm. 

On Christmas Eve they went to the candlelight service at the local church and then came home for hot chocolate. The next day, after exchanging gifts and hugs, they headed over to the Scamanders' house for Christmas Dinner. They had been doing so every Christmas for the past five years -- it was as much a part of family tradition as the advent wreath and the tinsel on the tree. 

Mrs. Scamander met them at the door. "Beth -- Bill -- come in, it's lovely to see you --" She bent and kissed Beth loudly on the cheek, then took Mr. Parson's arm fondly and led them inside. 

"Get in here and see what I got for Christmas," called Mr. Scamander from the living room. His wife rolled her eyes and bustled away to the kitchen. 

The Scamander's house was decked out in holly boughs and ribbon. Mr. Scamander stood proudly beside an impossibly large Christmas tree in one corner, which was covered in shining red lights. As they came closer, the lights started to move around the tree. Without warning, one of them leapt out at them -- it wasn't a Christmas-tree light at all, but a hairless, green monkey with what looked like a red light bulb on its forehead. Beth let out a shriek before she could stop herself, but Mr. Scamander caught the weird creature in mid-air and let it clamber onto his shoulder. 

"Clabberts," he boasted, and the monkey-like creature on his shoulder stuck its tongue out at Beth. "Just had 'em shipped in from the Americas. They're afraid of you two -- they only light up when they sense danger." Chuckling, he picked up the Clabbert and gently placed it back onto the tree, where it swung from branch to branch before settling down beside another one of its kind. 

"Er ... what are you going to do with them?" Beth asked. 

Mr. Scamander's skinny chest puffed with pride. "Redoing that section for the fifty-third edition. You'll be getting it for school next year?" he added hopefully. 

"We ... have a new book this year, actually," Beth admitted, blushing. "The _Monster Book of Monsters._ Yours is much better, though," she added hastily. "This one tries to bite you." 

"Bah!" Mr. Scamander curled his lip in contempt. "New-fangled fancy books. What next, the _Ghost Book of Ghosts?_ You'd go to read and it'd fall right through your desk!" 

Mr. Parson laughed. Beth felt warm relief run through her. Her father had been quieter than usual ever since she had gotten home; it was good to hear him laugh. 

"Stop showing off your new pets, Newt, our company's hungry!" Mrs. Scamander's voice filtered from the kitchen. 

"Half mad about feeding people, that woman," Mr. Scamander grumbled, but they trekked on out to the kitchen and seated around the round oaken table. 

The spread was fantastic. Mrs. Scamander had put together a meal that rivaled anything the hundred house-elf cooks of Hogwarts could create. There was an enormous, golden-brown goose dripping with sauce; steaming bowls of dressing; cranberries garnished with holly; and perhaps a dozen kinds of vegetables, rolls, and fixings. Mr. Parson said grace and they dug into the meal as if they were four teenagers, instead of only one and three elderly folk. 

Mr. and Mrs. Scamander were both in their nineties, but they were as sharp as ever -- and having lived so long, they were fascinating hosts. Always one or the other of them had a story to tell about somewhere they had lived, or something they had seen in their many years together. Mr. Scamander regaled them all with a story from his early twenties, when he had been first compiling his book and had been forced to spend two nights in a tree to avoid being devoured by a Chimaera. As he spoke, the wind picked up around them and howled around the windows until Beth could hardly hear him over the noise. Gradually the wind died down, but the howling remained, long and low ... 

And Beth recognized what it was. 

The sound of a woman with white tattered hair, screaming for her very life. 

Beth dropped her fork. Not _here,_ not on Christmas ... She felt the blood drain from her face. The screaming woman in white had followed her all the way back to Dorset. _It's not even my own house,_ she thought furiously. _She has to intrude on the Scamanders' property._ If she had come this far, how much farther would she go? Would she suddenly appear some nights, for the rest of Beth's life? 

"Are you all right, Bethy?" Mr. Scamander asked, looking at her quizzically. Before she could answer, Mrs. Scamander spoke up: 

"Oh Bill, what's the matter?" 

Beth looked quickly at her father. He had stopped eating and his hands were shaking, far worse than usual. There was a weary, worried look in his eyes. He looked at Beth, and her mouth dropped open in realization. 

"You hear it too -- don't you?" 

Mr. Parson turned to look at his daughter hollowly. 

"Dad, I _know_ you hear it!" 

Mr. and Mrs. Scamander exchanged a worried glance. "Beth, what is it?" asked Mrs. Scamander, turning to her. 

"Nothing," her father began shakily, but Beth broke in: 

"There _is_ something, there's this woman outside _screaming,_ I don't know who she is or what she wants -- but you know, don't you!" She turned on her father. "Who _is_ she?" 

Mr. Parson licked his lips. "She is Glaistig Uaine ... our banshee." 

The screaming fell off and the table was left in silence. 

***

Beth had read about banshees in Defense Against the Dark Arts. They weren't the sort of dark creature that you could exactly fight off -- the best you could do was sneak up on them and grab them, and then all you could do was force an answer out of them. The terrible thing was the question that they answered. As described by Mr. Lowell Brummagem in his _Handbook of Spirits:_

    "A banshee haunts a person only in the time immediately before   
    the death of a member of that family. They are usually attached   
    to old wizarding families -- predominantly those hailing from   
    Ireland -- and some theorize that they are the ghosts of dead   
    matriarchs, mourning their shortly-doomed sons and daughters.   
    The banshee may wear a dress of black, green, or white, and her   
    scream is said to be second in agony only to the cry of the   
    Augurey. (_See Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Obscurus   
    Books, 1990
_)" 

Beth, of course, didn't remember the description word for word -- that's what authors are for -- but she knew enough that once she understood precisely what was going on, she was speechless. She pushed away the rest of her meal, suddenly sick, and went into the living room, where the Clabberts scuttled around the Christmas tree and watched her curiously. The adults joined her soon. 

Mr. Parson sat down beside her on the sofa and put his hands on his knees. He took a deep breath. "The banshee has been attached to the Parsimmer family for almost eight hundred years now." 

Beth looked up at Mr. and Mrs. Scamander, but neither registered any surprise -- they must have known about her father's change of name. Getting her voice back, Beth demanded, "Well why haven't I heard her until now?" 

Mr. Parson shrugged tiredly. "There hasn't been a death in the immediate family for some ten years. Then it was my sister -- your Aunt Eugena." 

"I've never even heard of her," said Beth, frankly annoyed. 

"She was a witch," said Mr. Parson, "and a Parsimmer. She never met you." 

"So we have no idea why she's screaming this time. Who it's going to be." 

Her father shook his head, and he looked older than he ever had before. 

A banshee ... a herald of death. This was why Beth's father had been checking up on her so often ... this was the reason that only the young Parsimmer girl, the Hufflepuff, had heard the screams that Beth heard. She looked up at the Scamanders, and then over at her father. The appearance of the banshee was not only a haunting, but a riddle -- and one that would only be solved by death. 

***

The rest of Christmas break was rather tense. It was difficult for Beth to relax when she saw the face of the banshee every time she looked at her father. The return to school came as a great relief, and she had never been happier to see her friends as when they boarded the Hogwarts Express for the second term. 

Clamoring cheerfully, Melissa, Bruce, and Mervin found a compartment and spilled in, chattering about Christmas presents and what they had done over break. On this point Beth was silent. She let her friends chatter and enjoyed their company ... but she didn't tell them about the banshee. 

Melissa smiled at the sight of Mervin's snake slung around his shoulders, then stopped and took a closer look. "Good heavens, is that _Gina?_" 

"Yup," said Mervin proudly. "Grown six inches over break. She's almost five feet long. Isn't she gorgeous?" Gina nudged his cheek affectionately. "She's smart, too. I trained her to fetch the paper every morning. It always comes back with two big holes in it, but at least she's stopped fetching the butler." 

"What're you feeding her now?" Bruce asked curiously. 

"Mice, mostly, I mean I just let her hunt around," said Mervin. "Eggs, sometimes. She can swallow them whole, you know." 

Bruce thought that was extremely impressive. 

"I remember when a mouse could've eaten _her,_" said Beth thoughtfully, reaching over to stroke Gina's snout. "What kind of snake is she again?" 

Mervin shuffled awkwardly. "Don't know really. The guy who sold her to me didn't really say much ... shifty bloke. He had this eye patch and no teeth ..." 

"That's what you get for buying pets in Knockturn Alley," Melissa said. 

The trip back to school was much more relaxed than the one at the beginning of the year -- it might have been remnants of the holiday spirit, or just the fact that there were no dementors coming in to suck the happiness out of everyone. Beth fell asleep about halfway through. She woke up to the sound of screeching wheels and the long, shrill whistle of the Hogwarts Express. 

"Rise and shine!" Melissa chirped, as Beth struggled to sit up. "We're at Hogsmeade!" 

"You missed the food cart," said Bruce. "I saved you a Peppermint Toad, only Gina thought it was a real toad and tried to eat it." He held out a milky-white sweet with the head bitten off. 

Beth laughed at his genuine show of concern. "Thanks anyway. Tell Gina she can have the rest of it." 

"She hated it, though," Melissa pointed out. "That's the part she spat back at Bruce." 

Beth stared at Bruce. "You _offered_ me this?" 

He shrugged and popped it in his mouth. 

They hurried through the falling snow to board the long line of horseless carriages. The ride back was lighthearted; Beth was so grateful to be back with her friends that she ignored the persistent thought of the banshee in the back of her mind. _Forget it, Parson,_ she urged herself. But there it sat, tugging on her thoughts, even as the students went up the stone staircase, into the Entrance Hall, and dispersed in four directions. 

They spilled into the common room, grateful to be back. Aaron was there, sitting on the floor by the fireplace, so they all stopped by to say hi. He looked extremely glad to see them, and said as much. 

"How was it, staying here in the castle?" Beth asked, plopping down beside him 

"Awful," Aaron grouched. "The only other people here were a couple of firsties and Potter with his little friends. Didn't even recognize me," he said sullenly. "Had to eat Christmas dinner with the professors, didn't you always want to do that, and Trippy Trelawney kept going off about somebody dying." 

"Did you get anything done?" Melissa asked hopefully. 

Aaron sighed. "That's the worst part -- I was so bored I did all my homework." His eyes widened suddenly. "Oh -- and listen to _this_ --" He lowered his voice. "You're never going to believe it. Harry Potter --" 

Bruce swore under his breath at the mere sound of the name. 

"-- got a Firebolt for Christmas." 

In his surprise, Bruce swore out loud. "You're _kidding._" 

Aaron shook his head. "No, it just showed up, no label or anything. Good thing is, McGonagall thinks it might've been sent by Sirius Black. So she's confiscated it and Flitwick and Hooch are running all sorts of tests on it." 

"That'll stall it, anyway," Bruce said hopefully. "Maybe it'll take so long to check that he won't get it back all year. Wonder if they've thought of a Bucking Charm ... Did you actually get to _see_ it? How's it look?" 

"No," said Aaron enviously. "But if it's anything like the one in the shop in Diagon Alley -- Draco's got some competition." 

~~~~~~~~~~   
Author's Notes: Guess what, guys! The first S.S.A. novel got rejected by Sugarquill.com! I suspect that somewhere, Richard is crying.   
Thanks to all you beautiful people who have been leaving reviews. They're all I have for breakfast. In particular, God bless Lyta Padfoot and UnrepentantReader who review _every single chapter_. And Geis ... just because you've read it before doesn't mean you can't review now ... :-) I've revamped chapter 12 for you.   
Hope you're enjoying the book. --Amberdulen 


	12. Pets, Pranks, and Parsimmers

**Chapter Twelve: Pets, Pranks and Parsimmers**

School started back up all in one fell swoop. Before Beth knew it, she was back to slaving over Alchemy and tossing around Puffskeins in Care of Magical Creatures. 

Colin Creevey had apparently suffered amnesia over Christmas break. He came back with a lot of photographs of his family, which Beth didn't want to see, a pile of incorrect worksheets, and absolutely no recollection of what they had been working on. 

"Harry and Hermione aren't talking," he said seriously, gazing at the dungeon wall as if he thought a window would appear if he just looked hard enough. 

"Who on earth is Hermione?" said Beth, making a big X over one of his homework answers. 

Colin looked shocked. "His best friend -- well, okay, his best _girl_ friend -- Hermione Granger, you know, the really smart one?" 

"Oh, right," said Beth, drawing another X. She'd never heard anyone call the girl by her first name. 

"It's because of the Firebolt," Colin went on, in a hushed whisper. "She thought it might be cursed, so she told McGonagall about it, and they're checking it over --" 

"Colin," said Beth, "I really don't care about Harry's girlfriend _or_ his broomstick. Let's try and get back to your elixir, okay? You're only a couple of months behind your classmates, you know. Professor Snape's going to test you with them at the end of term --" 

"I know," said Colin hastily. 

Even with Beth's help, it took all afternoon for Colin to mix a truth elixir that was even of medium potency. They were just bottling the last of it (Professor Snape had requested the batch for, he said, final exams) when a voice rang out through the dungeon. 

"Hey, Beth, knew you'd be down here!" 

Bruce and Melissa stood in the doorway. "Are you almost finished?" said Melissa impatiently. 

"Oh -- just a second --" Beth called over her shoulder, collecting Colin's papers to deliver to Professor Snape. 

But Bruce had caught sight of Colin's Gryffindor robes. He nudged Melissa and said, loudly enough for Colin to hear, "You remember my cousin Bellulah, the reserve Chaser for Portree? Somebody put a Halting Hex on her broomstick -- it stopped midair and she fell twenty feet!" 

Melissa caught the look in his eye and a cat's grin came over her face. "Really, how dreadful!" she said. "But I went to a game over the summer, and you should've seen what an Ejector Curse did to their seeker!" 

Colin's eyes grew very round. He grabbed up his things and scrambled out the door. 

Beth waited to laugh until he was out of earshot. "You guys are so _evil!_" 

"Yeah, well, we're Slytherins," Bruce shrugged. 

Melissa shut the door carefully and hurried over to them. "I wanted to show you guys something," she said excitedly, lowering her voice although they were all alone in Dungeon Five. "It's from Christmas, but there hasn't been a good time since then ..." 

She looked from one to the other mysteriously. Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew -- with great flourish and aplomb -- her wand. 

Bruce looked at it dully. "That's your wand." 

Melissa made a noise of impatience and put her hands on her hips. "It's not my wand. Watch -- _lumos_." 

A red ball of fire burst from the wand, and Beth finally recognized it. 

"That's one of the basilisk wands!" she gasped. 

"Twelve inch willow," Melissa beamed. 

Beth sat down on one of the desks and took the wand, looking it over. "I can't believe your uncle actually let you bring one of these to school. What, does he want you to test it out?" 

"Well --" Melissa sat down beside her. "Actually he doesn't know. He'll know I took it," she added hastily, at Beth's look, "because I've been saying all along I was going to help test them, but he ... doesn't know yet." 

"You are really going to get in trouble for this," said Beth seriously. She swished the wand around a little bit and tried a simple spell to shoot green sparks out of the end. They flew out like shards of emerald, glistening embers, and burnt several holes in the floor. "Can I help?" 

Melissa grinned. "Sure. Just don't do anything weird -- when my Uncle Ollivander gets this back, the first thing he's going to do is Priori Incantatem. Of course, the way these wands work, that might just blow him up instead." 

***

The Slytherin/Ravenclaw match was close. 

"A little too close," Bruce said afterward, still grimy and drenched with sweat. "We should've slaughtered them. I mean, _Ravenclaw_." 

"At least you won, even if it wasn't by too much," said Melissa. "Draco's certainly proved his skill -- extraordinary catch." 

"Anyway, you saw how badly Ravenclaw beat Hufflepuff this year. They're getting better," Beth reasoned. 

Bruce nodded and wiped his forehead on the back of his arm. "We just should've scored more. I don't know -- without Adrian, the Chasers are really lacking." He went off to the showers without commenting further. 

Whatever the reason, Bruce had been right: Slytherin had very nearly lost the game. Consequently there was a bit less after-match gloating than was traditional. Beth found that she didn't really feel like taking part in it, anyway. Every time she began to feel cheery, the thought of the banshee would spring to mind, and she would instantly sober. She started writing letters to her father twice a week, and always got to breakfast early: she would look anxiously skyward until the owls came in to deliver the mail and possible reassurance that he was still all right. 

The day of the Gryffindor/Ravenclaw match, she accidentally slept in until after the owls had already arrived for the day. Quickly, she dressed and hurried downstairs. 

"Any mail?" she asked anxiously, sliding into the table beside Melissa. 

Her friend gave her an odd look. "Nothing but the Prophet. You're getting batty about mail these days, you know that?" 

"Yeah, I know," said Beth absently, picking out an apple from the middle of the table. She bit into it thoughtfully. "Just waiting to hear from my father." She started to unfold the newspaper. 

"That's the other thing. The only person who ever writes is your dad," said Melissa. 

Beth didn't find that worth replying to. 

The Slytherin team was all seated together today, debating the merits of both teams and making plans to watch their tactics carefully. Just then there was a murmur of commotion from the rest of the Great Hall as heads swiveled toward the entrance. Beth turned around in time to see Harry Potter, clutching a broomstick and surrounded by his classmates, enter and join his team at the Gryffindor table. 

Beside her, Bruce let out a strangled gasp. "That's a -- that's a --" 

Marcus Flint turned to look; you could almost hear the sound as his jaw hit the floor. "That's a _Firebolt,_" he growled, thunderstruck. At the sound of the word the other team members turned to look at Potter, and one by one realized the implications: Potter now had a better broom than any of them. Silence fell on the Slytherin table. 

A crowd of people was now starting to cluster around the Gryffindors, no doubt begging to hold or even see the fabled broomstick. 

"They weren't kidding," Blaise Zabini said, in awe. "They really have got a Firebolt." 

Draco's eyes narrowed. "I've got to see it to believe it," he said, and got up and headed toward the Gryffindor table. Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other before clumsily following after their boss. 

He returned just a few seconds later. The whole table leaned in toward him to hear about what he had seen. "It's a Firebolt, all right," he said, with a bitter glance backward at the laughing Gryffindors. "I begged my father to upgrade us, but he was certain no one would have anything nearly as good." 

"You're worth twice him on the field anyway," Pansy consoled him. "The Two Thousand Ones are just fine, and you're far more talented." 

Draco nodded absently, still casting a malevolent eye on the Gryffindors. "But think what my talents would be on a _Firebolt_." He sat back in his chair, deep in thought, and the people around him watched his expression anxiously. Finally he sat up and snapped his fingers. 

"Crabbe and Goyle -- get to the common room. Come with me, Marcus. I have a plan." He led the burly captain away from the table, speaking in a low whisper and gesturing excitedly. 

Melissa craned her neck and watched them go. "What's he got up his sleeve, I wonder?" 

"I sure hope it's another Firebolt," said Bruce dully. 

They trekked down to the Quidditch pitch around eleven o'clock. Aaron Pucey couldn't stop talking about Potter's new broom. 

"Where'd he even get it?" he ranted. "He can't possibly have that much money. Look at the way he dresses!" 

Aaron had never mentioned the way anyone dressed in his life. 

"I should've mentioned the Splintering Curse," Bruce said dismally, as they settled into the stands. "I thought McGonagall was still testing it." 

"Well, you kept him away from it this long," Melissa said comfortingly. "Maybe he's not used to it yet." 

But when the players had zoomed into the air and the game began, it became obvious that Potter was as comfortable on this broom as he had been on the last one; possibly more, because of the way that he dipped and swerved effortlessly. He flew like a hummingbird, now hovering, now twisting to avoid hitting the Ravenclaw Seeker head-on. Beth could now see why the appearance of the Firebolt was of such concern: she had never seen anyone fly that smoothly and sharply. 

Jordan, back in the announcers' booth, was equally impressed. "Gryffindor is up eighty to twenty and the Snitch is nowhere in sight -- but just watch that Firebolt's handling! Potter makes a dive and you can see the zero-degree turn radius in action -- this is the broom that Ireland's national team's practicing with, and they're favorites for the World Cup --" 

"The _match_, Jordan!" barked McGonagall. 

"Right, Professor, only passing on information -- that's Davies with the Quaffle, gets past both Weasleys and the Gryffindor Chasers -- comes into the scoring zone from the left and swerves in -- Wood lunges -- the goal is good, another ten points for Ravenclaw, and they're coming back into the game!" 

On the field, the Seekers were now zooming around like a pair of roller-coaster cars, one after the other. "Potter can't have seen the Snitch," Melissa said confidently. "He's not really going anyplace. Oh no --" 

Potter turned and shot toward the goalposts, the Ravenclaw Seeker in hot pursuit. He had his arm outstretched; obviously this time he wasn't faking it, he really did have a bead on the Snitch. 

Suddenly the Ravenclaw Seeker -- a little Asian girl -- let out a cry and pointed down at the field. Potter glanced backward, then pulled a wand from inside his shirt and thrust it where she pointed. An enormous ghostlike deer burst from the end and galloped through the air to the field. Beth looked at its destination and her heart sank; a trio of dementors stood on the pitch, like tall black sentinels. At the sight of the deer they backed away in horror -- one of them began to flail his arms and collapsed backwards onto the grass. The deer lowered its antlers, charged right through them, and vanished into wisps. 

A tremendous cheer broke out from the Gryffindor section of the stands. Madame Hooch's whistle sounded, and Beth took her gaze from the dementors long enough to see Potter, surrounded by his crimson-clad teammates, sink to earth with his fist raised in victory. 

She looked back at the dementors. The other two had fallen over and were struggling to stand up. The hood of one flopped back to reveal none other than Vincent Crabbe, one of Draco Malfoy's eternal bodyguards. Beth's jaw dropped as first he, then Marcus Flint, then Gregory Goyle, then finally Draco Malfoy emerged from the pile of black robes, looking angry and dismayed. 

A wildly celebrating crowd had gathered around the Gryffindor team, but McGonagall stormed across the field, pointing in rage at the Slytherins on the field. "An unworthy trick!" she shrieked, voice echoing around the emptying stands. "A low and cowardly attempt to sabotage the Gryffindor Seeker! Detention for all of you, and fifty points from Slytherin!" 

"No!" cried Melissa and Beth together, and the rest of the Slytherins who had heard her statement were equally appalled. They were only a few dozen points ahead in the race for the House Cup; a fifty-point blow would hurt. 

"Fifty points, that's outrageous," Melissa griped, turning to Bruce, but stopped when she saw his face. He had gone very red and his teeth were gritted, as if he were trying to hold back a cry of pain. "Are you all right?" she asked cautiously. 

"Just surprised," he said tightly. 

Dumbledore had by this time hustled onto the field and had what looked like a very tight grip on Flint's arm. He and McGonagall dragged the four offenders off of the pitch and back to the school, presumably to dole out the kind of punishment that only a Gryffindor teacher would bestow on a Slytherin student. 

"Well, that was a waste," Aaron Pucey sighed. He glanced over at Bruce for confirmation -- but he was already gone. 

They caught up with Bruce again in the common room, where he was brooding in front of the fire. The impersonators hadn't returned yet, and everyone else was either speculating on their fates or griping over the Gryffindors' win. 

Suddenly Bruce sprang up and barreled out of the common room. Alarmed, Beth and Melissa exchanged worried glances before hurrying after him. The door banged shut behind them. 

Bruce led the way, silently charging through the halls until Beth could tell where he was going: to Dumbledore's office. They got there just in time to see the Slytherins file out one by one, red-faced and defiant. 

The third-years skirted past, but Bruce wasn't interested in them -- he barged by them and stopped in front of Marcus in the middle of the hall, blocking his way. 

"Get out of my way, Bletchley," growled Marcus. 

"Stand here and listen to me," barked Bruce, with real animosity. 

Marcus didn't flinch. "Then say something," he hissed, nose-to-nose with Bruce. 

Beth had never seen Bruce in such a fury. His face was red with anger; he was almost shaking. "What were you thinking?" he shouted, fists clenched at his sides. "I'd expect it from Draco -- but Marcus, you're the team captain, I can't believe you'd --" He broke off, chest heaving. 

Marcus glared right back at him. "It's only fifty points," he snarled. "Just a prank. Anyway, we have to take out Potter before --" 

"A _prank!_" cried Bruce. "That was attempted _murder!_" 

"Rule number one is take out the Seeker," growled Marcus, and he wasn't smiling at all. 

"Rule number one is don't make all of us look bad by trying to pull some backhanded, deadly stunt during a game we're not even playing," said Bruce, just as coldly. 

"It wasn't a stunt, Bletchley, it was a strategy." 

"Then your strategy sucks." There was a very long, tense pause. Then Bruce said softly: "Didn't you think we could win the Cup on our own?" 

This seemed to throw Marcus off. He staggered back a pace or two and stammered, "Sure we can ... just doesn't hurt to make sure, that's all." Suddenly embarrassed, he resorted to his favorite emotion -- anger -- and spat, "I'm not wasting my time on you any more." He stormed away. 

Bruce watched him go and slowly shook his head. "Oh no," he said softly. "It _does_ hurt." 

***

_Barefoot, padding through the Barren Glen deep in the Forbidden Forest, Beth's feet make no noise on the carpet of fog and mud. Mist rises in thick swirls on all sides, unseen voices whisper echoes of dead hopes and dying pleasures. Beth glides along the treacherous marsh as if weightless. There is an island, home to the Precious Tree and its guardian sphinx, but it is empty now save the lone figure in the center. _

She pulls away her hood and she is both the banshee and Mrs. Parson, wild white locks and beaky nose, black curly hair and gaping mouth, and around her lie the bodies of her husband and sons, and she screams, and reaches her twisted hands toward Beth -- 

-- who jerked awake, cold with sweat, as dawn rose over Hogwarts school. 

Beth sat in bed for a long time, staring into the darkness of the inside of her canopies, hugging her pillow out of long habit. She had never known a mother to soothe her back to sleep after a nightmare ... but then again, that mother had never been the subject of the nightmare either. 

She calmed herself with a series of deep breaths. _The banshee only mourns one,_ she told herself, _and you don't know who that is._

That was the worst part, not knowing. 

Wearily, she poked her head out of her canopies. The bedroom was still dark; she could hear her roommates' even breathing. Beth tapped the top of her alarm clock. "Seven o'clock!" it chirped, as Beth shushed it. Melissa stirred and rolled over. 

Sighing, Beth climbed out of bed and got ready for the day. There was no going back to sleep at this point; she might as well make the best of her early awakening. Gathering her Alchemy book and a handful of paper, she trudged upstairs to breakfast. 

The Gryffindor table was completely empty. Beth figured that they must have stayed up celebrating practically all night. There were a few Ravenclaws, armed with textbooks that they wouldn't need until Monday morning, and even a couple of Slytherins amusing themselves by tossing food at the Ravenclaws. Easily the most populous group was the hard-working Hufflepuffs, who apparently preferred to get an early start on the day. Beth regarded them disinterestedly while she sipped at a mug of tea and tried to recall what Professor Vector had been gabbing on about in their last Alchemy lesson. Then, all at once, it struck her -- 

_The Hufflepuffs! I wonder if my cousin knows about the banshee?_

Putting aside her tea, she got up and approached the Hufflepuff table. As they saw her coming the conversation slowly faded until the whole table was silently looking at the Slytherin that had risen up in their midst. Beth ignored their closed faces and continued down the table until she got to a cluster of younger students, first- or second-years. "I'm looking for Parsimmer, the little blonde girl," she said, thinking that she would sound less threatening if she could have remembered the Parsimmer's first name. 

One of them swallowed hard. "She -- she's not here." 

"Where is she?" 

"We'll never tell," ventured one little dark-haired girl nervously. 

Beth was exasperated. "I'm not going to beat her up or anything! I just want to talk to her!" 

"Yeah, right," said a wide-eyed boy under his breath. 

"I'm not kidding!" said Beth, increasingly annoyed. "It's about her family --" That sounded sort of bad. "There could be a death --" That sounded worse. The dark-haired girl looked horrified. Beth tried to make up for it by backing out of the situation. "Just tell her I'm looking for her." 

That was possibly the worst of all. The boy went deathly pale. Beth decided that there was just no dealing with firsties and returned to her homework. 

She fiddled around with her Alchemy until dawn, doggedly applying stoichiometric principles to different species of mushrooms in between cups of tea. Just as the sun began to peek into the windows of the Great Hall, an excited babble swelled from the corridors. Beth swiveled to see what it was. 

As a throng, the Gryffindors poured into the Great Hall and swarmed their table, many still in their pajamas, every one of them clamoring under their breath. McGonagall was with them, and if her staid face ever showed an emotion other than stern forbearance or disapproval, then today she looked tired and frustrated. The oldest Weasley tagged along at her side, nattering officiously. Beth caught their conversation as he passed. 

"-- can't believe Sir Cadogan's ignorance -- even if he did have the passwords, he obviously wasn't a _student_ --" 

"I assure you, Weasley, he won't be guarding your portrait hole any longer." 

"And rightly so. He endangered my brother's _life_ --" 

Beth stared after them, fascinated, but the rest of their conversation was carried out of earshot. She looked back at the Gryffindors. If only she knew one, to ask what was going on -- 

But she did! 

Beth reached out a hand and grabbed hold of Melissa's boyfriend Galen Melhorn as he passed and jerked him toward the Slytherin table. He turned on her angrily. 

"Get off, it, snake -- oh, hi." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry, didn't sleep last night." 

"What happened?" asked Beth, gesturing to the anxious Gryffindors. 

Galen sat down beside her. "Sirius Black broke right into the common room -- must have been two in the morning! Almost killed Ron Weasley -- he slashed his canopies, and I guess he was frightened away when Ron started yelling." 

"He got in _again?_ Did they catch him?" 

Galen shook his head and stifled a yawn. "Naw, he got away. We all stayed up to see if they found him, but McGonagall said they didn't find a hair on his head." 

"Let alone the whole head," said Beth glumly. 

Galen laughed. "Right." He yawned again and stood up. "I'm starved. If you want to know more, ask Ron. He's been telling the story for about five hours now and it gets better every time." Chuckling, he strolled back to the Gryffindor table. 

Beth left her Alchemy lying open on the breakfast table and bolted back downstairs to the dungeons. 

Melissa was a awake, blearily fixing her hair. Breathlessly, Beth described how Sirius Black had appeared in the Gryffindor boys' dorm and then run away when the intended victim started yelling. As she talked, Melissa grew fully alert; it may have been the exciting story, or the fact that it had come firsthand from Galen. Her mouth opened wider and wider as she took in the story. 

"I wouldn't expect him to run," Beth mused, propping her chin on a fist. "He had a knife. If we wanted to kill someone, he could've just done it fast and then run. He could've taken out the whole boys' dorm probably, if he wanted to." 

"Not necessarily," Melissa argued, now fully awake. "If just one of them had their head on, they could've Stupefied him. Or at least levitated him, or frozen him, or given him a hex, or _something_. He had a knife, but no wand. I'll bet that's why he ran. He was helpless." 

"Helpless against a lot of third-year Gryffindors," said Beth, with relish. "I hope I never sink that low." 

***

The first attack had left the students of Hogwarts feeling somewhat excited. The second left them just plain scared. 

Obviously, the first break-in hadn't just been a fluke. Sirius Black knew how to get into the castle. When would he do it again? 

Everyone was a little jumpy. The Weasley twins took a leaf from Peeves' book and derived great pleasure in coming up behind the Slytherins, screaming, "_Look out, it's Sirius Black!_" and then running for their lives when someone realized it was them. 

"They haven't even _invented_ a word nasty enough to describe the Weasleys," spat Mervin, after having the daylights scared out of him after classes that Monday. 

"Yes, they have," Beth suggested absently, sketching a mouse on her parchment. "_Gryffindors._" They were at a table in the common room, sorting through a major assignment from McGonagall. She had threatened them with a pop quiz on the material, and furthermore hinted that it may appear on the O.W.L.s. 

Melissa patted him on the shoulder. "It's all in the adjectives," she explained. "I've always had good results with 'destitute', 'impoverished' and 'underprivileged'." 

"Not to mention carrot-topped," Mervin sniggered. 

Melissa eyed Mervin's vast mop of red hair. "You may not want to use that one." 

Morag MacDougal came into the common room and wandered up to their table. "Found ye a tidbit f' yer snake," he said to Mervin. He held out his hands, which were clenched tightly together. "Bit of a fleabag, but he'll give 'er a morsel." He opened his hands enough to display a tattered rat, struggling to escape his grip. 

Mervin was delighted. "Hey, thanks!" He held the rat up by the tail and whistled in the direction of the boys' dormitories. "It'll save me a couple Knuts worth of snake food, anyhow." 

"Eew, you're not going to --" started Melissa in revulsion, but just then Gina slithered around the corner. At the sight of the rat dangling from Mervin's fingers she perked up and slithered a little faster. She raised up her head eagerly and fixed her shiny eyes on the struggling rodent. 

"Come and get it, Gina!" Mervin said brightly. Then he tossed the rat in her direction. 

Gina reared up unbelievably high and caught the rat in her jaws. Fully stretched out, she must have been seven feet long. Melissa turned away, but Beth watched, fascinated. She'd heard that snakes swallow their food whole, and thought it might be interesting to see. The rat was squeaking desperately now, struggling vainly in the snake's wide mouth. Gina hissed a bit. Then she lowered her head to the ground and opened her jaws. The rat scampered out and stood a few inches away. 

"_What?_" cried Mervin. "You're supposed to eat him!" 

Gina raised her head and gave him a little insolent hiss. The rat squeaked, and it looked to Beth like it was sticking its tongue out at him. Then Gina turned and slithered languidly away. The rat followed beside her. 

Mervin was staring after her dumbly. "I don't believe it," he said, clearly awe-stricken, "she's made it her _pet_." 

"You always said she was bright," Beth reminded him, trying not to laugh. 

"I was wrong," said Mervin, and he stared into the corner where Gina was curled up with the rat atop her coils, both sound asleep. 

The door to the common room slammed open and Marcus Flint stormed in. "Anyone seen Bletchley?" he roared, to no one in particular. A first-year close to the door drew back warily. 

Aaron Pucey stood up. "Want me to go look for him?" Even though he was no longer on the Quidditch team, he deeply admired the players and still spent a lot of time around them. 

Marcus's lip curled in disgust. "Don't bother. If you see him, tell him he's going to pay for missing practice." 

Beth looked at Melissa in surprise as Marcus stalked out of the common room, as stormily as he had arrived. "That's weird," she said slowly. "Bruce never misses practice. He'd rather die." 

"If Marcus catches up to him, he just might," said Melissa, as the door slammed loudly behind him. 

Perhaps it was good that Bruce didn't show up for dinner, either; the Quidditch team sat together at the end of the table, and Marcus could occasionally be heard commenting loudly about people who shirked their duties toward others. Afterward, Beth and Melissa headed off to the library to do some research for Charms. They picked through the upper-level books, looking for expositions on complex (and, Beth thought, boring) theory. 

"Try this one, it's an easy read." 

They turned around. There sat Bruce, books spread on the table around him. He looked up at them with a mild expression. 

Beth almost dropped her armload of books. "What are you doing here?" 

"Avoiding Marcus," he said matter-of-factly. "You know he's never set foot in the library." 

They sat down at his table. "Why'd you miss practice?" asked Melissa in a hushed voice, in case one of the other players was nearby. "Marcus is _steamed_." 

Bruce shrugged and looked down at the open book in front of him. "Dunno. It just makes me sick, that stupid prank they tried to pull. I didn't really want to look at him or Draco today, that's all." 

Beth shook her head in disbelief. There was nothing to say to that, so she pulled over one of Bruce's textbooks and started studying for the Charms assignment. If Bruce didn't want to go along with the rest of the Quidditch team, that was fine -- so long as Marcus didn't get hold of him. 

~~~~~~~~~   
Sorry about the misspelling, Gies. *kills self* If it's any comfort, I only bat 50/50 on 'receive' too. 


	13. Uther's Triumph

**Chapter Thirteen: Uther's Triumph**

At breakfast the day after Bruce skipped Quidditch practice, Mervin came and joined them cheerily. Aside from Gina, wound around his neck as usual, there was a large lump in his front pocket. He dropped a piece of toast into the pocket and the head of a scrawny rat emerged, chewing energetically on the toast while holding it between his small front paws. 

"What are you still doing with that thing?" Beth asked, by parts astonished and amused. 

"He's cute," said Mervin defensively. "It's a he, by the way. Gina likes him, anyway, and I figure he'll eat just about anything ... he's kind of skinny, but he's really tame -- slept on my pillow last night," he said proudly. 

Melissa stared at Mervin and his growing menagerie. "You are _so_ weird," she said, for probably the hundredth time that year. 

Mervin looked down at the rat poking out of his pocket. "Don't listen to her," he said comfortingly, patting it on the head. "She just wishes she had a pet as cute as you." 

"What're you calling it?" boomed Warrington, patting the rodent with one clumsy finger. 

"Rat," said Mervin. He shrugged. "Gina named him." 

"_So_ weird," said Melissa, under her breath. 

O.W.L.s practice was a nightmare that week. The Gryffindors were furious with Slytherin for trying to frighten their Seeker, and the other two houses seemed to agree with them that it was somehow all the fifth-years' fault. Aaron Pucey got detention when he hexed a Ravenclaw who "accidentally" tipped over the potion he was working on three times in a row. 

"Unfair!" griped Melissa at dinner immediately afterward. "They never give detentions to the Ravenclaws." 

"They make their own detentions," said Mervin, looking over to where a group of them sat studying through dinner. 

Beth turned her head and her eyes fell on the Hufflepuff table. There was the little Parsimmer girl, chatting with her friends. "Be right back," she said quickly, and hurried over to them. 

"Parsimmer! I need to talk to you." 

The little girl turned around and her face instantly fell. "A-about what?" 

"I --" Beth faltered. "I'd kind of like to see you in private." 

"You leave Louisa alone!" chimed in the little boy that Beth had seen before. 

"I just want to --" 

"Go away!" 

"No! I mean, it's important --" 

"Is there a problem over here?" 

Beth looked up to see Cedric Diggory standing beside her, arms crossed. "Is there a problem?" he repeated. 

"I just want to talk to Louisa," said Beth. 

Diggory looked down at the wide-eyed Parsimmer who shook her head emphatically, and then back up at Beth. "She doesn't want to talk to you," said Diggory firmly. "Now leave her alone." Louisa looked up at him gratefully. 

"Who made you prefect?" Beth snapped, irritated at the interruption. 

Diggory reddened but held his ground. "Professor Sprout, that's who," he said, "and if I catch you bothering Lou again I'll report you. Now get over to your own table." 

Beth was astounded. "You're a prefect?" 

Diggory shuffled. "Yes, if you must know, Mary graduated early and I was appointed to take her place this Christmas." 

"It really worked then," she said softly, and went back to the Slytherin table before she could properly gage Diggory's reaction. 

She slid in beside Melissa. "What was that about?" her friend asked, picking at her spinach quiche. 

"Never mind that, Diggory's a prefect," said Beth impatiently. 

Melissa looked at her with uncharacteristic concern and let out a low whistle. "The Transcongus Brew is working faster that I thought." 

Beth nodded. "I'm worried." 

"He did it to himself," said Melissa shortly, but as she glanced over at the Hufflepuff table, Beth thought that she, too, looked worried. 

Marcus hadn't been kidding when he said Bruce would pay for missing practice -- he paid dearly the next day, when Marcus had him do nothing but block foul shots for a full three hours. "It's so bloody _frustrating,_" Bruce ranted afterwards, drenched in sweat. "You can't block all three Chasers at the same time -- not even the pros can do that!" 

Regardless, he must have been doing something right, because Marcus was pleased with the results. 

"It's his new technique," Aaron described animatedly, in Potions. "Great statistics on blocking fouls -- double what we've done before." He lowered his voice so that the Gryffindors, grinding herbs across the room, couldn't hear. "That's Marcus's new strategy, to not be afraid of foul shots, to try to keep the other team from scoring because he's pretty sure we can block a foul if we get it." 

Beside him, Bruce grunted down at his minced rowan bark but said nothing. 

They were working on a potion that would turn a rat's fur completely red. Hoping for colorful results, Mervin eagerly volunteered Rat to test his potion. Unfortunately, Rat merely sprouted a few red hairs on the very top of his head and went back to sleep. Professor Snape was unimpressed. 

"I can only imagine what you may have done to destroy your potion," he said coldly, picking up the sleeping Rat by the tail and eyeing him in disgust. "This is the sort of reaction that one would expect if the potion were administered to a human, not the kind of animal for which it was designed." He put the rat down and went on to criticize the Weasleys' brew, which had turned their specimen not red but bright pink. 

"I don't get it," said Mervin, leaning over Beth's cauldron. "Mine looks just like yours, and yours worked fine." Indeed, she was having a good time watching the scarlet rat scamper around its cage. "I dunno what I could've done wrong." 

Beth shrugged. "Something little, I bet. One extra vermillion leaf. It's always the stupid stuff that gets you." 

Mervin nodded morosely. 

When they proceeded to lunch afterward, they saw a big group of people gathered around the message board in the entrance hall. "Hogsmeade, this Saturday!" someone said eagerly. Beth's heart sank. She had begun to dread the thought of another Hogsmeade trip. It was always so much of a hassle to find someone to hang out with. To make it worse, there was always the chance, as before, that there would be no one ... not, she amended to herself, that she would really mind spending the day in the common room with Richard, but it was so ... bland, and ... geeky ... 

They slid into the Slytherin table and started in on the chicken and green beans. Moments later, Bruce appeared in the seat beside Beth, his eyes wide and panicked. "Ask me to go to Hogsmeade." 

"Can't you ask _me?_" asked Beth, frankly insulted. 

"No, that won't work - just ask me -- hurry, I mean it --" 

"Why should I?" Beth demanded. She crossed her arms. 

"_Just say it and I'll tell you later!_" Bruce almost screamed, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her. 

"Okay, okay, you want to go to Hogsmeade?" said Beth grudgingly. 

"Yes!" gasped out Bruce. Just as he said it, Blaise Zabini came up and sat on his opposite side. He regarded her nervously. "H-Hey, Blaise." 

"Hi, Bruce!" she chirped. "D'you want to go to Hogsmeade with me?" 

Bruce shook his head sadly. "Sorry, Blaise, I'd love to, but Beth already asked me." 

Blaise glared across his shoulder at Beth, who glared at Bruce, who looked penitent. 

"That's all right for you," snapped Blaise, "but that leaves me with either the lovey-doveys or Morag." 

"There's nothing wrong with Morag," said Bruce unhelpfully. 

"Sure, if you like Creaothceann," said Blaise. She pounded the table in frustration. "Who came up with this pairing-off thing anyway?" 

"I know what you mean," said Beth fervently. "Drives me up a wall." 

"Must have been some boy," Blaise agreed. They turned their twin rage on Bruce and he quailed under their fury. 

"It wasn't me," said Bruce. 

"Why don't you lay a guilt trip on Pansy?" Beth suggested. "Make her take you shopping, or you'll never speak to her again." 

Blaise brightened. "Yeah, that might work." 

"Trust me, guilt is the way to go," said Beth. 

When Blaise had gone, Beth turned to Bruce with a frown. "That was mean and you owe me." 

Relieved to be out of danger, Bruce only grinned. "I'm doing you a favor. Keeping you from sitting around with Rich all day. Anyhow, it's good for everyone. If Blaise can drag Pansy away from Draco for a day, he can go hang out with Vince and Greg like he's wanted to all along." 

"You _boys!_" said Beth in exasperation, and didn't bother to explain her statement. 

***

As the afternoon progressed, the Hogsmeade trip took second rank in conversation to a new bit of juicy gossip about the latest break-in. Word leaked out that it was, in fact, Neville Longbottom who had compromised castle security. The fifth-year Slytherins were delighted. This was enough to negate his triumph over the boggart, and once again they felt comfortably superior. 

They weren't the only ones who saw a silver lining, though. "Even if Harry can't go to Hogsmeade, he'll have company this time," Colin reported earnestly, at the tutoring session. "Neville's not allowed to go for the rest of the year. Professor McGonagall was really mad." 

"And understandably so," said Beth, with all the patience she could muster. "Now, if it's all right with you, could you _please_ relight the fire? Your potion is coagulating." 

Colin looked down at his cooling cauldron, gave a little yelp, misaimed, and set a chair on fire. 

Despite all the preoccupation, speculation and chatter, there was still one person who was more excited about the break-in than anyone else: Richard Shaw. As he and Beth met in the Vase Room early that Thursday night, he explained why. 

"We didn't find out who was after the Sorcerer's Stone. We didn't figure out who was the heir of Slytherin. But if we can only capture Sirius Black -- if we can find out where he is or how he gets in -- this is our chance, Beth, do you see? Think if we could say that Slytherins captured a mass murderer! Think what that would do for our reputation! What would the Daily Prophet say?" 

"That we turned in one of our own," suggested Beth wryly. 

Richard laughed. "Good one, but he was a Gryffindor actually. I weaseled it out of Snape earlier this week." 

"See, some of _them_ turn into Death Eaters too!" said Beth. 

Richard nodded thoughtfully. "If the Dark Lord ever rises again, my money's on Percy Weasley for going evil." There was a pause. "Going to skip out on Hogsmeade again?" he asked, as they were waiting for everyone else to show up. 

"Not this time," Beth laughed. "Bruce actually asked me -- well, sort of." 

Richard's smile faltered a bit. "That's -- that's good. Wouldn't want you to miss out." 

"Sorry you have to stay behind." 

He shrugged. "It's not bad, if there's good company." 

There was an awkward pause. Then the door banged open and Uther Montague strode in, beaming like he had just robbed a bank and escaped in the owner's Mercedes. 

"I don't like it when you look like that," said Beth warily. 

"Dibs on the chair," said Uther breezily, throwing himself into the only armchair. He put his hands behind his head. "Today, I'm the king." 

"Does the Queen Mum know about this?" asked Richard, raising an eyebrow, when Herne and Morag fell into the Vase Room, hands clamped over their mouths. As soon as the door was shut, they collapsed into howls of laughter. 

Herne looked up at Uther, eyes shining. "You're brilliant, I never saw anything so --" 

"Crivvens, yer unco' clever, ye ken --" babbled Morag in incomprehensible Gaelic. 

"What happened?" asked Beth. "You talk, not him," she said, pointing at Morag. "He doesn't make any sense." 

Morag looked hurt. 

"We were coming to the meeting, me and Morag," Herne narrated, "and it was going pretty well, until I ... sort of tripped on some armor ... and --" 

" -- an' th' cat was there, ach aye, Dame Norris, wi' cold an' malevolent eye --" Morag broke in excitedly. 

"She runs off and before we know it, there's Filch staring us down," Herne said. "And he looks all happy because it's been a few months since he caught me." Herne was notorious for getting caught breaking curfew. "I look behind him and there's Uther coming around the corner. I kind of wave at him to keep him away, but Filch sees me and turns around and sees Uther ..." 

"An' he dinnae run or hide --" Morag interrupted again. 

"He barges right up and goes -- well, show them, Uther --" 

In response, Uther got up, strode over to Morag, and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. 

"Out of bed at this hour!" he roared, with only a hint of his standard cocky smile. "Roaming the halls! I'm ashamed to be your prefect! In fact -- you make me ashamed to be a Hufflepuff! Thirty points -- from my own house -- and I'll double it if you so much as raise your eyes from the floor until we're right back in the common room! I'm so sorry, Mr. Filch," he gushed, turning on Herne and shaking his hand with both hands. Herne did his best to glower. "I never thought I'd see the day. I'm sorry you had to be bothered. Have a good night, Mr. Filch. And God bless your cat." 

He let go of Herne, strolled across the room, and tumbled back into the armchair, his face a picture of self-satisfaction. 

Richard gaped. Morag and Herne started to laugh again. 

"Who really is the Hufflepuff prefect?" asked Herne, eyes shining. 

"Who cares?" said Uther. 

Richard ran his hands over his face. "Please, just don't tell me when you do something like that, okay?" 

Uther twisted around to face him. "And risk losing more points for the Huffles? Never, old sport!" 

As the story was told, more and more people filtered in, so that it had to be repeated many times until everyone had heard the source of Uther's glory. The actual meeting was postponed until everybody settled down. Finally, Richard got up and said meaningfully, "Well -- any luck with the search for Sirius Black?" 

"We've made Sirius progress," cracked Uther, still over-pleased with himself. 

Fortunately, Richard knew him well enough not to take him -- ahem -- Siriusly. "Anyone?" 

"I just can't work out why he's so hard to _find,_" said Melissa. "There are all kinds of spells -- tracking spells, enchanted maps -- even 'Point Me' would work -- and if they've got any of his hair, they could make a medallion that always points toward him, like a compass." 

"And there's got to be some of that in his old cell," Blaise figured. "You know, in Azkaban." 

Rat looked up from where he had been sleeping on top of the Ledger and ran his paws along his tattered ears nervously. Beth noticed that he was missing a front toe. 

"Well then, let's break into Azkaban and get some," said Mervin sarcastically. Gina slithered around his shoulders and nudged his cheek approvingly. 

"That'll be the day," Bruce grinned. "A bunch of Slytherins, trying to get _into_ Azkaban." Blaise gave him a smile. 

"It's not that difficult," said Evan, from the corner where he stood with his arms crossed. "All it takes is a little Cruciatus. Getting back out would be the trick." His dark hair fell in his eyes, and Beth remembered the previous year when she had been convinced -- briefly, but firmly -- that he had been the Heir of Slytherin. She still didn't fully trust him, she realized. He was too aloof, darkly self-assured ... 

She realized that the meeting had gone on around her thoughts, and tried to pay attention again. They were talking about the stalking of the second-years, for new members. Beth didn't have an assignment, but she thought they looked like a more promising bunch than the current third-years. 

"Jules Rothbard -- president of the whole S.S.A., you know -- sent me a letter," said Richard. "He's one of the school governors, took over for Draco's dad, and he's had to help decide what to do about that hippogriff that nearly took Draco's arm off. He'll give us an owl if he ever has to come out -- wants to drop in, catch up on what we're doing, and so forth." 

"There hasn't been much of that," said Melissa. "Slow year." 

There were nods all around, although nobody really looked as if they minded the calm state of things. It was better than paying for information from the Bloody Baron, or trying to get past a giant three-headed dog, or scrambling to cover up for a Petrified unregistered Animagus, or struggling to find the Heir of Slytherin. Blaise and Morag, having nothing to compare it to, exchanged shrugs. 

Richard cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I've heard from Riggs -- well, from Gypsy actually. She says he's taking all of the Dark Arts classes but none of them are Defense." 

Even Uther grew silent. 

"Everyone needs a hobby," said Evan darkly. 

"Oh, shut it, Wilkes," said Uther suddenly. "You didn't know Riggs like we did. He was in my class, for crying out loud. You never expect it from someone you know. Or maybe you might -- you have one in the family, don't you?" 

"Had," Evan sneered, but he shut up and glowered for the rest of the evening. 

_Everyone has one in the family,_ Beth thought, as the conversation went on around her. That was one thing they shared -- all of them had known, some even loved people who went on to serve the Dark Lord. In fact, the Society's founder was Lord Voldemort himself -- how much closer could they get? Yet here they were, trying to capture one of his escaped followers. _If Tom Riddle knew, he'd be furious._ And the thought of his fury was terrifying. 

There was little to talk about, and soon they were dismissed to go back to the dormitories. "And no side trips," Richard said severely to Uther, who grinned in his devil-may-care kind of way. 

The meeting had left Beth thoughtful, and on the way out she pulled Melissa over to one side. "I had a thought," she said. "Uther reminded me. That Hufflepuff girl. The Parsimmer. She can hear the banshee too ... I wonder if she's in danger? What if Sirius Black came after the Hufflepuffs next?" 

"Maybe," said Melissa, but her voice was worried. "Listen, Beth -- it could be anyone in your family, right?" 

"Of course, that's why I'm worried about them both --" 

"I know that, but listen, Beth ... what if it's not either of them ... what if the banshee is mourning _you?_" 


	14. Two Revelations

**Chapter Fourteen: Two Revelations**

Hogsmeade couldn't come soon enough for Beth. By that point in the semester, she was sick and tired of Alchemy, Antigone, Colin Creevey, the Weasleys, and everything else piling up on top of her. As if this weren't enough, the constant threat of Sirius Black coupled with Melissa's new fear that the banshee was actually foretelling Beth's own death paired up and left her feeling constantly tired. Earlier in the week the banshee had shown up in her dreams, and it was enough to keep her awake for the rest of the night. 

So as soon as the coaches pulled into Hogsmeade village, Beth grabbed Bruce and forced him to join her in the Three Broomsticks. At least it would be relaxing, she figured. 

Most of the tables were already filled so they took a pair of stools up at the bar and ordered two butterbeers. Madam Rosmerta, the pretty, bubbly barmaid and owner, brought them over, with a special smile for Bruce (she had a soft spot for Quidditch players). 

"Thanks," said Bruce, accepting both the butterbeer and the pat on the cheek with dignity. "How are you doing, Madam Rosmerta?" 

"Fine, fine. And you? It must be frightening, mustn't it, up at the school?" asked Madam Rosmerta sympathetically. "After what happened last Saturday, and all." 

"You heard about that?" said Beth in surprise. 

"Well," chuckled Madam Rosmerta, "not really officially, but ... well, that's all the students have been able to talk about." She made a quick pretense of wiping off the counter. "It must have been especially hard for Remus -- that is, Professor Lupin." 

Beth and Bruce exchanged nervous glances. Could she have known about his "condition" too? "Why ... would it be any worse for him?" Bruce asked cautiously. 

"Of course, he wouldn't have mentioned it ... not to the students," said Madam Rosmerta. "I'm sure he won't mind --" She leaned closer to them conspiratorially. "But you see, Sirius Black was one of his closest friends, back in his Hogwarts days." She leaned away and began cleaning out an empty mug. "Always together, they were. Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, James Potter, and Peter Pettigrew -- rest their souls," she added piously. "Now there's only poor Remus, and Sirius Black hiding out goodness knows where ..." She shuddered and broke off. "Personally, I feel much safer knowing that the dementors are patrolling the streets around here. I don't favor them myself, mind, and goodness knows they drive away business, but it's better than worrying about a convicted killer." 

"Erm," said Bruce. "That's ... very interesting." He met Beth's eye. Very slowly he moved his hands so that one rested on top of the other; then with a quick and unobtrusive motion he tapped the crest of his S.S.A. ring. Beth nodded just as slowly. 

"Interesting or not, I won't sleep well until Sirius Black is caught," Madam Rosmerta declared. "Excuse me, I believe I hear a customer calling." She bustled away. 

Beth and Bruce leaned their heads together. 

"I had no idea Lupin knew Black," Bruce hissed. "Best friends, even! I wouldn't be surprised if he's been helping Black sneak into the castle. Benevolent werewolf -- there's no such thing!" 

"He might've even helped him escape Azkaban," Beth mused. "I'd do it for you or Mel. He might even still be helping him hide. When Rich hears about this he's going to --" 

She never got a chance to describe what Richard might do, because at that moment raucous singing broke out behind them. 

"PARSON AND BLETCHLEY, SITTING IN A TREE, 

"K-I-S-S-I-N-G ..." 

Flabbergasted, Beth turned around to see the Weasley twins, arm in arm with identical wide grins, belting the rest of the song. They were surrounded by their Gryffindor followers. 

"FIRST COMES LOVE --" 

"THEN COMES MARRIAGE --" 

"Then comes Bletchley pushing a baby carriage!" one of them warbled. There was laughter and applause from around the Three Broomsticks. Beth's cheeks turned as red as flame. She was so mortified that she wasn't even sure how to react -- but Bruce was. Very deliberately, he picked up his mug of butterbeer, grabbed the closest Weasley by the front of his shirt, and poured it over his red head. 

"Make like a Slytherin," Bruce muttered to Beth, and they strode through the laughing crowd, heads held high, leaving the Weasley sputtering behind them. 

They stopped outside of the tavern and Beth turned to Bruce with a smile. "Make like a Slytherin?" 

He shrugged. "You knew what I meant." 

"Don't show weakness," she replied, and they smiled at each other. "Come on, let's go see if anybody we know is hanging around the Shrieking Shack. I'll bet Mervin's playing chicken with the goblin guards as we speak." 

They started up the path toward the haunted Shack, but before they got very far, Draco Malfoy came sprinting down the path, silver hair flying behind him, Crabbe and Goyle in close pursuit. He skidded to a halt in front of Beth and Bruce. "What's the quickest way back to the castle?" he panted. Slimy green mud dripped down one half of his face and robes and he looked absolutely furious. 

"Hop one of the coaches and tell it to ride like thunder," said Bruce, surprised. "Why?" 

Still gasping for breath, a mad glint came into Draco's eye. "Because Potter is going to _pay_ for this." Without another word, he darted away, and his two friends, gasping for breath, followed. 

Bruce watched him go. "You know, he's never even taken a Bludger or anything." 

"All of the third-years are crazy," Beth said dismissively. "When we get back, let's tell Richard about Professor Lupin right away, all right? At least we'll have something to show for today." 

"I dunno," said Bruce, and a blissful smile crossed his face. "The image of that Weasley dripping with butterbeer was enough to make my day worthwhile." 

***

Richard was delighted. 

"Dumbledore may not care that Lupin's a werewolf," he said, eyes glinting with victory, "but if Lupin's helping a murderer to sneak into the castle -- oh, he'll care about _that_ all right." 

The three of them were gathered in the common room. Around them, tired but happy students lounged, nostalgically describing the joys of the day to younger students. "Is it worth another Special Award for services to the school?" Bruce speculated cheerfully. 

"_Two_ of them," said Richard. He stood up. "Let's see Dumbledore right away." 

Marcus's voice boomed from the corner of the common room, where he sat surrounded by the rest of the team. "Bletchley! Team meeting! Get over here!" 

"Tell me how it goes," murmured Bruce, and unenthusiastically joined his teammates. 

Lightheartedly, Beth and Richard trekked through the castle to Professor Dumbledore's studies. They found him at his desk, reading a book called _Men Are Hogs: The Circe Theory_. As they came in, he put down his book and peered at them over his spectacles. 

"Yes, Mr. Shaw? Miss Parson?" 

Richard took a breath. "We have become aware that Professor Lupin was close friends with Sirius Black many years ago." 

Dumbledore nodded. "Go on." 

Richard looked a little taken aback that his words were received with so little surprise. "Well -- we thought it might be possible that -- I mean, since Black's been getting inside somehow --" 

"Mr. Shaw," said Dumbledore, leaning forward seriously, "have you been given any reason to believe that Professor Lupin would aid and abet a known criminal?" 

"Other than that, not really, but ..." 

"Are you aware that Professor Lupin was also close friends with Peter Pettigrew and the Potters, who were all slaughtered by Sirius Black?" 

Richard ran a hand through his hair distractedly. "Well, yes --" 

Dumbledore sat back. "I respect the work that the Society for Slytherin Advancement has been doing to protect Mr. Potter. However, I can assure you that Professor Lupin is quite firmly on the side of justice and that Sirius Black will be receiving no help from him." He smiled at Richard, who was beginning to take on that deflated look that Beth had seen so many times. "Carry on, Mr. Shaw. Gloria serpens." 

Richard smiled back, but he left the office in a bit of a hurry. 

"Gloria serpens," he muttered, when they had left the office behind them. "I'd settle for just getting something right for once." 

"We were right, just not ... right," Beth argued. "Anyway, we'd better not write off Lupin as the good guy yet. The Dark Lord could have followers anywhere." 

"I know," said Richard, and they both thought about Riggs. 

They reached the common room and parted ways. As soon as Richard had left for the boys' dormitories, Melissa got up from where she had been sitting and hurried over to Beth. "Letter came for you," she said, handing her a Muggle envelope. "From your father." 

"Huh, that's weird," said Beth absently, tearing open the seal. "He must've sent it this morning, they usually get here at breakfast." 

She pulled out the letter and took a seat slowly while reading it aloud, for Melissa's benefit. 

"'Dear Bethy'," she read, "'I want you to come home over the Easter holidays. I have an appointment and I think that you should come along.'" Her smile gradually changed into a confused frown. "'A letter came from the Ministry, and --' oh --" 

She broke off suddenly. 

"What?" asked Melissa, trying to see the rest of the letter from where she was sitting. 

Beth read her father's words again, then another time to make sure she was really seeing it right. Wordlessly she folded up the letter and put it into her pocket. A very funny feeling began deep in the pit of her stomach. 

"It's my brother," she said, sounding as dazed as she felt. "Lycaeon. He's --" 

She looked at Melissa, and gradually a grin broke out on her face. 

"He's up for parole." 

***

All her life, Beth had dreamed of this kind of scenario. In elementary school she had developed a kind of ongoing fantasy: She and her father would be sitting at home one night, as usual, when the doorbell would ring. There would stand her mother and brothers, looking just as they did in the old photographs. "You've been mistaken, darling, we weren't really dead," her mother would say, giving her father a tender kiss. Then she would kneel down on the floor and say, "Oh Beth, I missed you so much!" and they would hug and hug, and from then on they would be the happiest family in the world. 

By the time she got to Hogwarts, Beth had pretty much come to grips with the fact that it was nothing more than an impossible dream. Nonetheless, as she recounted to Melissa as they sat up by the fire late that night, ever since she had learned that they were alive, there had been some kind of hope. 

"I've never heard of a Death Eater getting anything short of a life sentence," Melissa said. "Well, Sirius Black, but he kind of made his own luck, you know?" 

"Dad said it was because he was never convicted of using an Unforgivable Curse," said Beth, watching the fireplace flicker and dance. "And because he was so young when they caught him." 

"How old --" 

"Fifteen," said Beth. "Our age. That makes him ... twenty-eight. Oh my gosh!" she said suddenly, and buried her face in her hands. "What if he can't stand me?" 

"Don't be silly, he's going to _love_ you," Melissa said comfortingly. "I bet he's overprotective, and he doesn't let anybody pick on you. I bet he hates all the boys you bring home to date." 

"I've never brought a date home," Beth said, voice muffled by the palms of her hands. 

"Well when you start, he'll keep them in line," said Melissa. She smiled and took Beth's hands. "It's going to be all right." 

Somehow, hearing her best friend say so made it true. 

They got up and started back to the dormitory, yawning and stretching. Suddenly Melissa stopped and pointed to a cluster of chairs. "Look!" she giggled, lowering her voice to a hushed whisper. 

Mervin was sprawled across one of the chairs, fast asleep. Gina was sleeping on top of him. Rat was sleeping on top of Gina. 

Beth covered her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. 

"He is _so_ weird," Melissa whispered, grinning. But as they crept past and made their way back to their bedroom, Beth couldn't help thinking that as weird as it was, the scene had also been kind of cute. 


	15. The Chair with Chains

**Chapter Fifteen: The Chair with Chains**

"Ready, Beth?" asked Mr. Parson, straightening his collar nervously. 

Beth drew a deep breath. "I'm ready." 

They stood before the Ministry of Magic in London. Beth had come home several days before, finally free for the Easter Holidays, and they had taken the Floo network from the Scamanders' house in order to arrive in time for Lycaeon's hearing. Now here they stood, at the epicenter of the British wizarding community, and Beth felt sick with fear and anticipation -- for what, she could not tell. 

Beth had been at the Ministry of Magic only once before, when she and Richard had made a mad scramble to find Dumbledore and warn him that Potter and his friends had entered the forbidden third-floor corridor. Then, the looming marble building with its columns and balustrades had seemed majestic and regal. Now, it felt ominous and oppressive. 

She followed her father up the stone staircase and into the hall. It was broad and high, lined with hardwood panels and red velvet. Wizards and witches bustled around carrying stacks of paper or objects that Beth presumed somehow related to their work; one tiny wizard scurried past, carrying a cauldron at least twice as large around as himself and muttering something about cheap imports. 

Mr. Parson approached one of the foremost desks. "Excuse me, we're here for the Parson parole hearing," he said courteously. 

The witch behind the desk looked up from filing her nails and eyed his Muggle clothes suspiciously. "Are you expected?" she inquired, in a nasal, irritating voice. 

"Yes, ma'am," said Mr. Parson mildly. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a long black envelope. The witch took it and read the enclosed letter quickly. 

"Well," she said, sounding somewhat disappointed that she did not have the right to expel him from the premises, "this seems to be in order. Gillmast!" she cried. A short, sharp-nosed creature that Beth recognized as a goblin appeared at her side. "Lead these two to the Parson hearing," she ordered. The goblin nodded curtly and waved at them to follow him. 

Beth was aware of the curious stares that her father received as they walked along the velvet-lined hall. Her face burned. She knew that he had renounced the wizarding world years ago, but why couldn't he have kept just one set of robes, just one pointed hat? Surely he must have known that he would someday have to re-enter the society that had raised him. Beth knew that she wasn't being fair and immediately regretted her angry thoughts. But it was bad enough that her whole family was made of prisoners; why did he have to make it worse by not even trying to overcome his status as a Squib? 

She started to wonder what Lycaeon would be like, and the sense of foreboding fell on her again. She remembered her vision of him at the S.S.A. funeral over a year ago; then, with a shudder, she thought of the horrible thing that the boggart had become, in Defense Against the Dark Arts at the beginning of the year. Had Beth's subconscious been right -- was Lycaeon as much of a broken husk as the boggart had portrayed? 

She felt hands on her shoulders and stiffened; but no worry, it was just her father guiding her along behind the silent goblin. His hands were steady, and although it had been years since he had held her so close, she was grateful for the sturdiness of his touch. 

They followed the goblin down the hall into a small wooden door which led into a narrow, stone-lined corridor. The goblin led them down a long staircase and into a dim, torch-lined room. At the center stood an empty chair that looked like it had been unused for years. Benches rose along all four walls, on different levels so that the chair was the lowest point in the room. Beth was, absurdly, reminded of the Quidditch pitch. 

Beth had thought the hearing was going to be a private affair. When the courtroom doors opened, she was surprised to see a wide variety of people seated around the room. Some looked officious, and might have been Ministry workers; there were several guards; and a number of them might have been simply civilians. A few rows from the front, an old witch in a flowered hat sat placidly knitting. Behind her was a youngish man. As they passed by, Beth recognized the scar across his left eye: this was Dave Gudgeon, an S.S.A. alumnus who had known Lycaeon at Hogwarts. He gave her a comforting nod as she walked by, and she returned it with the briefest flicker of a smile. 

Beth's father gave her a nudge, and they slid into the bench beside the knitting old woman. She leaned over to Beth, flowers on her hat bobbing, and asked kindly, "My dear, why have you come?" 

Dry-mouthed, Beth whispered, "He's ... he's my brother." 

The old witch nodded sagely and gave her a comforting smile. "I had a brother once too," she whispered back, and patted Beth on the knee before returning to her knitting. 

The room was chilly; Beth was so nervous that she felt like she herself was going on trial. No one spoke. She glanced up at her father; he stared straight ahead at the empty chair, and his worn, wrinkled face was especially strained. _He's been here before_, she realized, _only last time it was to watch his wife and sons be locked away in Azkaban. I wonder if I was here too?_

There was the sound of a door slamming, and Beth almost jumped out of her shoes. She looked around. A regal man was sweeping down the aisle now; his head was held high, his face regal and stern. He wore all black. He took a place at the very center of the bench that faced the empty chair. He took out his wand and tapped the railing impatiently. A placard sprung up, inscribed with the words: 

_The Honorable Justice Wendell Matheson_

Justice Matheson sat down and the room grew deathly quiet. Eventually the Justice boomed: "Bring in the prisoner." 

A door at the other end of the room opened and Beth felt the breath catch in her throat. Through the yawning entranceway she could see the dim outline of figures standing there. Then they swept into the center of the room, and Beth could see exactly who it was: her brother, hair tattered and graying, flanked on either side by a dementor. 

Lycaeon stood upright, but just barely. His head was bent low and the unkempt hair fell in his eyes and around his beaky nose. Beneath the blonde and gray Beth could catch glimpses of sallow skin, sunken cheeks. But then he looked up and there was something in his eyes that she never expected. There was hope. 

The dementors escorted Lycaeon to the chair in the middle of the room. Once he had been seated, Justice Matheson waved a hand at them and they billowed away, surely disappointed to leave such a rich feeding ground. 

Justice Matheson glared down at the prisoner. "Lycaeon Cyrus Parson," he intoned, and his voice echoed in the cavernous room. "Twelve years ago you were accused and convicted of alliance with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, hindering the process of justice, and cursing many Ministry workers as well as innocent civilians. How did you plead, in that case?" 

Beth found this question unnecessarily cruel, but Lycaeon raised his head and said, "Guilty." His hoarse voice caught and rattled in his throat. 

"You were fifteen at the time." 

"Yes." 

Justice Matheson settled back in his seat. "At that time you were favored with a jury of your peers -- your elders, I should say. At this hearing there is only me. You must convince me not only that you have paid for your crimes, but that you are ready and willing to renter a world full of decent, law-abiding wizards." 

Lycaeon had nothing to say to that. Beth cast an anxious glance at her father, but Mr. Parson would not look away from his son, gone these twelve years. 

"If I choose to allow you parole, you will leave Azkaban, but forbidden from holding a wand for the next fifteen years. Otherwise you will return to the fortress to complete your original sentence." 

"Seventy years or death," said Lycaeon softly, from the middle of the room. Beth heard Dave Gudgeon shuffle behind her. 

"Yes. What do you have to say for yourself?" 

The courtroom grew deathly still. Lycaeon rubbed his knuckles with one emaciated hand, and beneath his fingers Beth could see the glimmer of an S.S.A. ring. Finally, head bowed, he managed, "Have you ever been -- there?" 

"To Azkaban?" said Justice Matheson curtly. "Yes. Yes, I have." 

Lycaeon raised his face and met the justice's eyes. "Then you know. I have paid." 

The knitting needles clacked in calm rhythm beside Beth. 

"Has it been enough?" asked Justice Matheson coldly. 

The graying hair shivered. "A lifetime's worth," said Lycaeon thickly. 

His hands twisted together. Big hands, Beth noticed, strong like her father's -- farmers' hands. She had not realized that even with parole, Lycaeon would be forced to live without magic. He would have to farm. 

Justice Matheson leaned forward. "Are you aware, Mr. Parson, that two of the wizards whom you cursed have been permanently blinded?" 

"Then gouge my eyes out -- just don't send me back _in there!_" Lycaeon roared, losing his tired demeanor in one quick rush of desperation. 

"Steady, Luke," murmured Dave Gudgeon from the back of the room. 

Even the Justice looked astounded at Lycaeon's outburst. "Are you aware," he went on, voice rising dangerously, "that one of your victims died of the hexes that you cast, and another suffered a temporary nervous breakdown?" 

"No," said Lycaeon, barely concealing the bitterness that crept into his voice. "I expect I was locked away by that time." 

"It would be to your advantage, Mr. Parson, to at least pretend to show remorse." The Justice's voice was cold. 

"Remorse?" For a moment Lycaeon looked like he was going to explode again; but he gathered himself together before continuing in a strained voice: "I have had twelve years of remorse. I don't plan to show it any more readily just because you're here in front of me." 

There were murmurs through the courtroom, and Beth thought she heard Dave Gudgeon give a short, muffled laugh. 

Justice Matheson scowled at the prisoner. "You regret your actions then?" 

"Every single day." 

"What do you regret?" the Justice prodded. 

_This is ridiculous_, Beth found herself thinking. He obviously hated the sight of Lycaeon. And asking him to answer such personal questions -- such silly questions, even -- She felt a rush of hatred against Justice Matheson. 

Lycaeon didn't need any time to consider before answering. "I regret that I trusted my future to the Dark Lord and he left me with this." He held up his handcuffed wrists. 

More murmurs from the throng. The old woman went on placidly knitting. 

"And the ones whose lives you destroyed --" 

"Don't you understand!" Lycaeon burst out, almost rising from his chair. "It's _my_ life that's been destroyed! Those two are blind but they're _free_, and death is better than sitting year after year drowning in hell!" 

The Justice began to say something, but Lycaeon went on, seemingly drawing strength from twelve years of anger. 

"You're having this trial to see if I'm reformed -- if I regret what I've done. Look at me! I was fifteen the last time I saw a happy day. You want to know if I'd still support the Dark Lord. You won't come out and say it, but I know it's what you want to know. Well, look at how he left me! I'd kill him myself for what he's done to me -- if he's not dead already!" 

The murmurs rose to loud chatter, and Justice Matheson banged his gavel for order. It was several moments before the noise lowered again, and even then there was a low undertone of astonished talk. The Justice looked down his nose at Lycaeon. 

"Then you have told me all that I wish to know," he intoned sternly. "You will be returned to Azkaban while I consider all that I have heard --" 

He paused as if expecting a burst of outrage, but Lycaeon sat still and tense. He had said his piece. 

"Very well. Please escort this man back to the dementors." He snapped his fingers at a burly wizard standing guard at the door. 

The burly guard took Lycaeon by the arm and started to lead him out of the room. As they went, a scrap of paper fell from the rolled-up cuff of Lycaeon's pant leg. Beth recognized it instantly: it was just the size and shape of the messages she had rolled up and sent by bat many times over the past two years. She stood up as if to leave, hoping to draw attention away from the paper, but Justice Matheson bent and picked up the paper. He held it close to his face, brow furrowed, reading quickly. Then he looked up at Beth and her father. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. 

"Detain that man." 

A guard came forward and grabbed Mr. Parson's arm. "No!" Beth cried, reaching forward. "I wrote that, I gave it to him just this morning --" 

"'_My darling wife and sons, Elizabeth has had her fourth birthday today, she misses you all, love, Pa'_," Justice Matheson read crisply. He looked up at Beth. "I might remind you that it is not prudent to lie blatantly inside a courtroom. Search him for more," he said to the guard holding Lycaeon, and instantly her brother was against the wall being searched for tiny scraps of paper. 

"Let him go!" Beth screeched at the guard holding her father, but he stared back at her as if he never heard her. "Dad, they can't do this --" 

"Beth." 

"-- they can't lock you up without a trial --" 

"Bethy." 

"-- and I'll -- I'll be left alone --" 

"Elizabeth. Listen to me." 

Mr. Parson's voice was soft and calm despite the commotion going on around him. "They won't send me to Azkaban without a trial. I'll just be held here, that's all. I promise you I'll be all right." He dug in his pocket and the guard looked alarmed, but all he withdrew were a few Sickles. He folded them into Beth's hand. "Take the Floo network back to Mr. and Mrs. Scamander's house. They'll send you back to Hogwarts at the end of break." 

Beth fought the urge to throw the money into Justice Matheson's face. "What'll happen to you?" 

"I'll be fine, Bethy." And his wrinkled face showed no fear. "Leave now. I will send you an owl as soon as possible." 

"No! I'm not going to just --" 

"Leave, Beth." 

Trembling, she looked into her father's face, and down at Lycaeon spread-eagle against the stone wall. Then she felt strong hands around her arm, and Dave Gudgeon stood there beside her. He nodded briefly to her father, who nodded in return, and gently led her out of the courtroom, through the Ministry of Magic, and back into the street. 

Beth's whole body was shaking. She didn't seem to be hearing things too clearly. She walked numbly along where Dave Gudgeon guided her, propelled more by his strength than her own feet. He let her go. She realized that they had come to the Floo station, a small booth with a fire blazing from the floor. 

She handed the attendant the Sickles that her father had given her, and received a pinch of Floo powder in return. 

"Beth." She looked up at Dave Gudgeon, feeling suddenly weak. His scarred face creased into a grin. "It'll be all right." 

She wanted to reply but the words were choked down in her throat. 

"Now go to your friends' house." 

Beth tossed the powder into the fire on the ground, and said, "Scamander residence. Dorset," without thinking about it. 

"Be alert for the exit," Dave Gudgeon warned kindly, and gave her a little push to help her into the booth. 

The green flame whirled past, and Beth was flying past doorways and windows and fireplaces. She recognized the Scamanders' exit and lunged through dizzily, just as the Floo was slowing to a halt. She came out in their kitchen, disoriented. Both of the elderly people were seated at the kitchen table, Mrs. Scamander armed with a spatula, her husband covered as usual with inkspots and holding a crumpled manuscript in one hand. 

"Beth!" said Mrs. Scamander, with a hint of worry. "Lycaeon's trial was today! Where is your father?" 

"It didn't go very well," she said faintly, looking around at them with a glazed expression. Then she went into the living room and lay down. 

***

Beth stayed with the Scamanders until the end of Easter Break. She barely spoke, except to tell them what had happened in that cold room in the Ministry of Magic. She wouldn't have eaten either, but for Mrs. Scamander's gentle insistence. Mr. Scamander kept her close by during his perpetual editing project; he occupied her with stories about wonderful creatures and sent her on small missions. She was grateful for these mindless activities. She thought that she would go insane with dread without them. 

Mrs. Scamander personally took her to King's Cross Station to board the Hogwarts Express for the rest of the term. 

"Oh Bethy," she said, laying a tender kiss on her forehead, "things will all work out. Just give it a bit of time and faith." 

"I'm not sure I have either," said Beth, trembling, before she turned and got on the train. 

The trip to Hogsmeade Station was like a foggy blur. She didn't remember taking the coaches back to school, or walking with the other students into the entrance hall, or making her way numbly down the hall to the Slytherin common room. She gave the password without thinking and went inside, oblivious to everyone around her. Beth took a seat at an empty table. 

Melissa hurried over and gave her a quick hug. "Oh, I've missed you! I had to room with no one but Antigone for days. How was the parole hearing?" 

Beth felt a tightness start in the back of her throat. _I am not going to cry_, she told herself. _She doesn't care if my father's going to prison, and no one wants to hear about my pathetic problems. I am not going to cry._ "Fine," she said in a strangled voice. 

Bruce wandered up and sat down with them. "Hey, Beth, have a good time at home?" 

Beth burst into tears. 

Ignoring the shame of showing weakness and the silence that grew up around her, Beth put her head in her arms and sobbed. She couldn't tell them how very, very wrong everything was right then. Vaguely she hoped that everyone would leave her alone and just let her cry. 

For a moment she was sure that they had done just that. Then she heard Melissa's familiar voice whisper, "Oh, Beth," and suddenly she was wrapped up in a tight hug. She hugged back, weeping into Melissa's shoulder. _At least I still have my friends_, she thought, and for some reason that made her cry harder. 

It was fifteen minutes before Beth had calmed down enough to describe everything that had happened over Easter break. By then Melissa had coaxed her into a corner of the common room and the three of them sat in a circle on the floor. Bruce, not having the benefit of being her closest confidant, took a long time to understand it all. 

"Wait -- so your family's not dead." 

"No. They're --" Beth sniffled "-- in prison." 

"And you're afraid the banshee's screaming means your mother is going to die." 

Sniffle. "No. My f-father." 

"But he's a Muggle." 

"_No_, Bruce, he's a _Squib_," Melissa said despairingly. "Haven't you been paying attention at _all?_" 

"Okay, okay, that's why he can be sent to Azkaban." 

"Y-yes." 

"And the banshee belongs to his side of the family -- wait, I know this -- the Parsimmers -- and if he goes to prison you think he'll die." 

Beth nodded mutely and buried her face in Melissa's now-sopping handkerchief. 

"But he hasn't actually gone to trial yet." 

Beth shook her head, face covered by the handkerchief. 

"And all they've got as evidence is this twitchy little scrap of paper." 

Melissa looked at him in exasperation, but Beth nodded again. "Well ... there's hundreds still in the prison, all they have to do is look ..." 

"And you really don't know who the banshee's mourning, you're just guessing." 

Sniffling, Beth raised her head. "Well, yeah, but ..." 

Bruce cocked his head and looked at her thoughtfully. "It's not that bad." 

"Not ... that ..." Beth looked up at Bruce in complete disbelief. Then she punched him as hard as she could in the shoulder. Then she collapsed in laughter onto his chest and the three of them sat there on the floor until her tears had completely dried. 

"Glad you're here!" came an exuberant voice from above them. Richard charged into their group, eyes alight. "You'll never guess what Blaise and Morag -- oh -- I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?" 

Melissa opened her mouth to speak, but Beth said, "No," quickly and stood up. "What is it?" 

Richard grinned. "Come on down to the Vase Room and I'll show you." 

***

It felt strange to be in the Vase Room before dark. Everyone was already gathered by the time they arrived. Blaise and Morag sat on the low divan, chatting excitedly with each other. Uther was asleep in the armchair. Richard roused him with a good kick in the shin as he marched past to take his place at the front of the room. 

"Go on, show them," he said proudly. 

Beaming, Blaise and Morag turned toward the group. Each of them lifted up a corner of cloth that flowed like moonlight between their two hands. It was long and silvery, more like liquid than fabric. Even Evan seemed entranced by its beauty. Uther came fully awake. 

"Crivvens, Morag, what's that?" 

Instead of a response -- which would have probably been incomprehensible anyway thanks to his dialect -- Morag grabbed up the cloth and slung it over his shoulders. There was a moment when Beth could see that it wasn't just a cloth, it was a silver cloak ... then she couldn't see anything at all. Morag had vanished. 

Yells of enthusiasm and surprise echoed through the Vase Room. Rat rubbed his nose nervously before hiding his head in Mervin's shirt pocket. 

"An Invisibility Cloak!" cried Herne. "Where'd you get it? We'd _never_ get caught if we had one of those things!" 

"Who did you kill for that?" murmured Evan, with undeniable interest. 

"We found it in one of the secret tunnels," Blaise narrated proudly. "The one on the third floor. Behind the hag statue. We got tired of doing homework so we decided to go poking around for clues -- this was just laying there, on the floor, right at the entrance!" 

Morag's ruddy face popped into view. It was as if his head were suspended in thin air. "Bonnie wee bit o' cleedin, aye?" 

"Aye," said Bruce fervently, and everyone laughed. 

"So where's it come from?" asked Melissa, but before she had even finished speaking, she realized the answer to her own question. Indeed, the whole Society thought the same thing, because they said at once, and together: 

"Sirius Black." 

***

When Beth awoke she didn't feel good and it took her a moment to remember why. Then she put her head on the covers and tried to go back to sleep. It was only Melissa's insistence that got her out of bed and to class, and even then she listened with a weary, distracted apathy. 

By dinnertime she couldn't really remember what she had done with her day, and didn't care much either. She picked aimlessly at the pork ribs. 

Suddenly there were wings flapping in her face and an envelope fell on top of her napkin. She tore into it as the delivery owl fluttered away. 

_Bethy, _

I'm sorry this took so long. I wrote as soon as I got home. 

The Ministry has released me until my trial which will be held in early May. They only have one message as evidence. I convinced them that you knew nothing about it. They intend to search Luke's cell for more, as well as your mother's and Chris's, but so far all they have is one. 

Don't worry. We will both come out fine. Last winter I made plans with my brother for your care in case something happened to me. He has a young daughter who I believe goes to Hogwarts this year. You are welcome in their home. 

Love,   
Dad 

"I never knew that's what they were talking about," said Beth faintly. She had seen the conversation with his brother in the magic mirror in the prefect's lounge the previous Christmas. 

Melissa nudged her. "What's it say?" she asked, concern in her voice. 

Beth handed over the letter and Melissa read it quickly. "At least he's free now," she said hopefully, but it was a bleak kind of hope. 

Before Beth could reply, Richard appeared and plunked down beside them. "I'm taking the third-years to show Dumbledore the cloak they found," he whispered excitedly. "Anyone want to come?" 

"Beth wants to," said Melissa quickly. She gave her friend a meaningful look. "It'll do you good." 

Resignedly, Beth left the dinner table and followed Richard out into the corridor. Blaise and Morag were already there, looking desperately pleased with themselves. Blaise held a lumpy package under one arm. 

Once they were outside Dumbledore's office, she unwrapped the package and handed the cloak to Richard. He gazed down at it as if it were solid gold. "Finally," he said softly, "the year's paid off." He looked up. "Come on then, I can't wait to see what he says!" 

They forged into the office. Dumbledore was feeding his pet phoenix with one hand and munching on a pickle with the other. He looked completely unsurprised to see them. 

"What can I do for you?" he said, nodding at each of them. "Society business, I presume?" 

"Sir, look what we found in one of the secret passageways," Richard said triumphantly, holding out the silvery cloth. 

"Well, well," said Dumbledore softly. He came around the desk to take the cloak from Richard. "An invisibility cloak. In one of the passages, you say?" 

"The one on the third floor, behind the statue of the one-eyed hag," said Richard. His eyes were ablaze with victory. "I'm sure you knew about that one already." 

Dumbledore smiled. "Yes, yes, I am particularly fond of it myself." He ran the cloth through his hands. 

"We think Sirius Black used the tunnel to get into the castle, and then put on the cloak so he could sneak around," Blaise said eagerly. 

"Aye, an' whin Weasley hollered he oop an' left tae swift tae keep 'is grip on't," Morag added. 

Dumbledore nodded absently, still holding the cloak and peering at it closely. Then he looked back up and focused his gaze on Richard. 

"There are two reasons why I must disbelieve your theory. The first is simple logic: Sirius Black was seen by both the portrait guarding the Gryffindor common room and Mr. Weasley. Why would he use the cloak to sneak into the castle, only to remove it so close to his destination? Secondly, this particular cloak is very unlikely to have ever been in the possession of Sirius Black, because it belongs to Mr. Potter." 

Richard stared at him. The triumphant look slowly seeped from his face and was replaced with blank despair. "It belongs to Potter." 

Dumbledore nodded. "I do not know why Mr. Potter may have taken it into the tunnel, and truthfully I suspect that I may not want to know. However, I am quite certain that this cloak has not been touched by Sirius Black for at least twelve years. I thank you for your help --" 

Richard exploded. "Our _help?_ We haven't helped you one _bit_ since this whole thing started!" He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "I mean -- everything we come up with, you either already know about or shoot down! What in the world do you want us to do, if you already know it all?" 

Overcome with emotion, he turned away from the desk, then turned back abruptly. "I'm just _sick_ of not doing any good!" 

Beth cast an anxious glance at Professor Dumbledore -- surely blowing up at the Headmaster was worth a detention, if not an expulsion. Her worst fears were confirmed when Dumbledore looked over at the three of them and said, "If I may have a word with Mr. Shaw privately?" 

"Uh -- all right," said Beth. Blaise and Morag regarded Richard with something like fear and scurried out together. Richard was now pacing angrily in front of the cage that held Dumbledore's pet phoenix, who cooed soothingly. As she left, she looked over her shoulder in time to see Dumbledore lay a hand on Richard's shoulder; then she turned and hurried outside. 

She waited in the hallway for nearly ten minutes before Richard came out. He looked somewhat strained, but considerably calmer. Beth decided that it would be imprudent to ask how it had gone. Fortunately, Richard answered her unspoken question. 

"He wants us to go on spying around," he said, sounding slightly defeated. "Says he's proud of what we found even if he already knew. That's a load of muck, but at least he appreciates us." 

The Invisibility Cloak still hung from Richard's hand. "You've still got Potter's cloak," Beth pointed out, a little hesitantly. 

"Bugger Potter," said Richard, stuffing the cloak into a pocket. "He left it and I'm keeping it, at least for the rest of the year. If he's fool enough to leave something like this laying around in a tunnel, then he deserves to lose it." 

They walked back to the common room in silence. Just as Beth was beginning to wonder if Rich would be in a bad mood for the rest of the school year, he heaved a little sigh and turned to her with a small grin. 

"Something good comes out of everything, I guess." 

"What's that?" 

"Think of all the secrets we can learn with this cloak." 

Beth laughed. "Maybe you can even catch Sirius Black with it." 

"If _only,_" said Richard fervently, and the ambition in his eyes was as strong as it had ever been. 


	16. Gryffindor vs Slytherin

**Chapter Sixteen: Gryffindor vs. Slytherin**

Tensions were running high, and Gryffindor/Slytherin relations were at an all-time low. 

With the Quidditch match a week away, what was usually a nice, quite hatred roared into full-scale war. There was taunting in class, shoving in the halls, and plenty of fierce bickering when the teachers' backs were turned. People started hanging out with Marcus Flint in hopes that he would come unstrung and beat the tar out of somebody. Beth and her friends were lucky enough to catch just such an occurrence right before D.A.D.A that Tuesday. 

Upon seeing the Gryffindor captain in the halls, Marcus (who had been animatedly talking tactics with Bruce) snorted loudly and attempted to trip him. Oliver Wood nimbly bypassed his foot and swung his backpack at Marcus in passing. Marcus dodged it and let out a derisive guffaw. 

Oliver faced him, obviously ready for an encounter. "What're you sniggering about?" he taunted. "Going to take the Quidditch Cup again?" 

"Knock on wood," growled Marcus, and punched him. 

Wood reeled backwards and launched himself at Marcus. 

Luckily, Professor Lupin appeared before any real damage could be done, took ten points from both houses, and sent them in opposite directions. "I'll be relieved when this is all over," he remarked mildly, leading the Slytherins into the classroom. "I didn't remember it being this bad when I was at Hogwarts." 

"That was back when London was getting bombed by the Nazis," Melissa whispered. 

Beth grinned halfheartedly. It was hard to be amused by things with the thought of her father always in her mind. 

Most unfortunately, they were in the middle of a unit about death omens and how to combat them. They learned about amulets, charms and talismans -- but sometimes fate couldn't be changed, some omens couldn't be fought. The Grim was one. Banshees were another. 

All in all, Beth ended up completely frazzled and disturbed. She left class without waiting for her friends -- and almost ran into Richard, who was waiting for her outside the door. 

"Mind if I walk you to class?" 

Beth looked up at him in surprise. "Er -- not at all. I've got Arithmancy in room four sixty-three." 

They walked up several flights of stairs in silence. Just before they reached the classroom, Richard pulled her to the side of the hall. 

"Melissa told me about your father," he began seriously. "I want to say that I'm sorry ... and ... I'll do whatever I can -- oof!" 

Without warning, a student came around the corner and very deliberately rammed into Richard. He went flying into Beth, blushed deeply, and blustered around to try to figure out what had happened. 

A group of fourth-year Gryffindors stood nearby sniggering. Richard's eyes narrowed. "Watch where you're going, or there'll be points taken from your house." 

There were titters of "Oh I'm frightened" and "Keen, isn't he?" 

"Might as well take points now, we'll win them all back tomorrow," one of the boys jeered. He was a pimply, gangly youth with a close-shorn haircut. 

Richard looked at him in frank exasperation. "_What?_" 

"You heard me." The belligerent Gryffindor shifted his weight and lurched into Richard again. Richard stumbled sideways before righting himself and stopping in his tracks. 

"What do you _want_ from me?" Richard demanded, face flushed. All around them, people were starting to gather around in interest. 

"He wants a fight, Rich, let's just go," Beth pleaded, taking his elbow. Richard shook her hand away. 

"They let the girls do their fighting now, do they?" taunted the Gryffindor. He had to be two years younger than Rich, and was at least a head shorter. _Well, they're supposed to be the brave ones,_ Beth thought in despair. _Come on, Rich, let it go._

But Richard was past the breaking point. He drew himself up to his full height and glared down at the fourth-year with an expression that Salazar Slytherin would have been proud of. "Pity your mother isn't here to fight for you," he spat. "Anyone who could bear something that hideous must be a formidable opponent." 

The crowd shuffled excitedly. Muted cheers of "Show 'im, Rich!" and "C'mon, squash the snake!" started to move through the ranks. Beth drew back into the crowd, afraid to watch. 

"_You leave my mother out of this!_" the Gryffindor practically screamed. He jammed his hand into his pocket and pulled out his wand -- Richard was quicker on the draw and had his wand pointed at the other's head. There was the briefest flicker of time when something like terror flashed onto Richard's face, as if he had just realized what he had gotten himself into -- but then the fourth year brought down his wand and cried, "_Auratuber anise!_" 

"Duplicita!" Richard stammered, and something like a large sheet burst from the end of his wand. The Gryffindor's curse erupted onto the sheet; part came through and part bounced back at him. There was an enormous amount of smoke and everyone backed away. 

When the smoke cleared, the sheet had gone, and Richard and the Gryffindor stood on opposite sides of the hall. They both looked alarmed but unhurt, and they both had leeks growing out of their ears. 

Smothered giggles started to spread through the crowd and eventually erupted into full-blown hysterics. Richard looked around wildly, as if completely unable to believe what he had just done. The fourth-year felt his ears, growled, and launched himself at Richard. They went down in a tangle of flailing legs and flying fists. 

"_What is going on here?_" 

Everything stopped. Richard landed one more solid punch before he was dragged off of the fourth-year by Professors Vector and Sinistra, who had apparently come to see what the ruckus was about. They each grabbed a student by the arm and dragged them off, calling things like, "Get to class, you're all late!" and "Never thought I'd see this from a prefect!" 

Beth had only a chance to catch a glance of Richard's mortified expression before she was hustled away in the crowd. 

As soon as class was over, Beth scrambled to the hospital wing to see if Richard was still in there. She was not disappointed. The fourth-year had long since been discharged, but Richard still lay there on his back, hands over his face. He didn't even remove them when Beth hesitantly said his name. 

"I don't believe I just did that," he said, his dazed voice slightly muffled underneath his hands. "I have done nothing but screw up for the last three years. I have no right to be here." He let his hands down and stared at the ceiling. "Did you ever wonder if you were losing your mind?" 

"Sure, I wonder if you're losing your mind every day," said Beth briskly. "You keep proving me right." 

Her attempt at cheering him up fell on deaf (and leekless) ears. "I am completely worthless. Look -- a prefect attacking a younger student! From another house, even! Every single thing we found out for Dumbledore all year has been totally useless. Riggs hasn't written me back all year, Gypsy says he's hanging out with a horrible group of people at Durmstrang -- I'm losing him, I'm losing everything, and I think my sanity's going with it." He heaved a long, long sigh. "Rothbard never screwed up like this." 

"You're not Rothbard," said Beth quietly. 

"You're telling me," Richard replied, and he got up and walked away. 

***

That was the last major outbreak of open animosity before Saturday's game. That morning, both Quidditch teams were already gone before Beth and Melissa even got to the breakfast table. 

"What are they trying to do, squeeze in another practice before eleven?" Melissa asked derisively, delicately snatching the best pieces of bacon. 

Beth shrugged. The thought of her father's impending trial still hung in her mind. She looked down at her plate absently. "You know, I think I'll just go to the library instead of the game." 

Melissa looked up at her and let out a sigh. "You're not going to make it any better if you go around sulking," she said, not unkindly. "Come on, we've got to go support Bruce. It'll do you good." 

Reluctantly, Beth let Melissa drag her down to the Quidditch pitch after breakfast. She had to admit that it was kind of exciting -- the atmosphere hadn't been this competitive in years. On the way to the pitch they got into a shouting match with a few Gryffindor sixth-year girls, which was invigorating, and conspired to set one of their crimson banners on fire (scaring the daylights out of Professor Sprout, making it a doubly-satisfying endeavor). 

The stands were awash with Gryffindor-red flags, banners and badges. Beth and Melissa made their way past them all, heads held high, and found seats behind the Slytherin goalposts, where it was so green that it must have been on the other side of the fence. 

Lee Jordan, the excitable and extremely biased Gryffindor in Beth's year, stepped to the microphone and commenced introducing his favorite team. "And here are the Gryffindors: Potter, Bell, Johnson, Spinnet, Weasley, Weasley, and Wood! Widely acknowledged as the best team Hogwarts has seen in a few good years --" 

"You only wish!" Melissa shouted defensively, as their housemates howled their indignation around them. 

"And here come the Slytherin team, led by Captain Flint. He's made some changes in the lineup and seems to be going for size rather than skill --" 

"Just because your team doesn't have both!" said Beth shrilly, as the players' names were obscured by the violent boos of six hundred people. 

"He's mad, we haven't changed lineup all year," muttered Melissa. "It's going to be another one of those games, I can just tell." 

"It always is," sighed Beth. Madame Hooch ordered the captains to shake hands; they did, but it was more like armwrestling than a gesture of goodwill. 

There was a hush as the captains let go of each other and stalked apart. The stands went oddly silent. Anticipation sat like a fat lady. 

"Mount your brooms!" cried Madame Hooch. 

The teams obliged without turning their glares from each other. 

"Three!" 

Marcus Flint choked up on his broomstick and bared his teeth at one of the Gryffindor Chasers. 

"Two!" 

Draco Malfoy bent his knees a bit, for a fast start. 

"One!" 

The sound of her whistle rocketed through the silent stadium. 

In an instant, the bleachers roared with cheers and shouting, as hundreds of people urged their teams faster with their voices. The fourteen players kicked off and immediately the Quaffle went into play. The Gryffindors took it first; Warrington intercepted a pass near the goalposts and shot down the field, only to have it knocked out of his hands by a Bludger just halfway to the goalposts. It was caught by a Gryffindor, who headed toward the Slytherin goal at lightning speed. She ducked Uther, came up on the Keeper's left side, barely avoided a Bludger, and sank the goal effortlessly. 

"Oh no, poor Bruce!" cried Beth. "He'll be -- ooh, that had to hurt!" 

Marcus Flint came zooming around the goalposts and rammed into the Gryffindor, almost unseating her. The Gryffindor supporters booed loudly. Then one of the Weasleys hurled his club at Marcus hard enough to give him a nosebleed. The Slytherins booed just as loudly. 

Madame Hooch wasn't taking sides on this one. She gave a penalty shot to both teams, despite the arguments of the Weasley that had done the club-chucking. 

One of the Gryffindor Chasers lined up in front of the goal to take the penalty shot. The crowd grew silent ... except for Lee Jordan. 

"Come on, Alicia!" he yelled, completely regardless of the fact that he was the only one talking. The Gryffindor wove forward carefully and took her shot. 

"YES!" cried Jordan. 

"NO!" cried the Slytherin supporters, with a lone voice in the back calling, "Can't you just give the results without _comment?_" 

"SHE'S BEATEN THE KEEPER!" crowed Jordan. "TWENTY-ZERO TO GRYFFINDOR!" 

There were groans from the Slytherin part of the stands. "Bruce is just warming up," Melissa said hopefully. "We can come back -- we've got a penalty too --" 

But Marcus, perhaps because of his nosebleed, was unable to get past Wood, and the score stood. "We have plenty of time," said Beth. "They have to be fifty points ahead to get the Cup, even if they get the Snitch." 

"They can't get the Snitch," Melissa said fiercely. "We can't lose this game. We'd lose the House Cup again -- we can't afford to lose it three years in a row!" 

Uther got control of the Quaffle momentarily, until one of the Weasleys nailed him in the shoulder with a Bludger. The dropped Quaffle was intercepted by one of the Gryffindor Chasers -- but before she got very far, Uther lurched forward and grabbed at the Quaffle. She ducked to protect it and he ended up clutching her head. He pushed her away in disgust, but not before Madame Hooch let out a blast on her whistle and zoomed over to chew him out. His angry arguments didn't help; she gave a penalty to the offended Chaser. 

"Come on, Bruce!" called Beth, as she wound toward the Slytherin goalposts, but the Keeper moved too slowly and failed to block the shot. 

Jordan rejoiced. "THIRTY-ZERO! TAKE THAT, YOU DIRTY, CHEATING --" Melissa cast a dirty look at the press box before picking up the binoculars to see Bruce's reaction to his failing. 

"Bruce just isn't on his game today," Beth said worriedly. "I hope he snaps out of it." 

Melissa dropped her binoculars. 

There was a moment of cold silence. They fell to the bleachers with a crunch; one of the lenses shattered. Melissa slowly turned to Beth, eyes wide, mouth slightly open in shock. 

"That's not Bruce." 

Beth gaped at her. "What do you mean it's not Bruce?" she demanded. She picked up the binoculars and peered through the remaining lens. Her jaw dropped. 

"That's _Aaron!_" 

The youngest Pucey brother swerved around the goalposts, looking furious with himself and flexing the fingers of his right hand. He had always been a good player -- but with so many injuries, and after so long without practice, Beth could tell that he wasn't up to scratch. 

"Maybe he needed a time-out," said Melissa, somewhat desperately. "He'll be back in to pick it up ..." 

Beth thought that it sounded very much like Melissa was trying to convince herself that Bruce was somewhere nearby. That might have been a good strategy had all the evidence not pointed otherwise. Beth scanned the field again, then the sidelines, then the entrance to the locker rooms where the Slytherins had thrown their towels and water bottles on the ground. Bruce was nowhere in sight. 

There was a triumphant cackle from the press box as the Slytherin Beaters, Bole and Derrick, somehow managed to fly into one another. Jordan's laugh turned to groans as Marcus managed to grab the Quaffle from one of the Gryffindors, evade Wood, and score for the first time the whole game. He didn't look as pleased as he normally might have. 

Game play resumed and the Quaffle bounded back and forth. The Gryffindors got a penalty when Bole accidentally smacked their Chaser with his club; the Slytherins got one when one of the Weasleys very intentionally elbowed him in the nose for revenge. Unfortunately, when the dust cleared the Slytherins were even farther behind: forty to ten, and Aaron looked desperate. 

The Gryffindors scored again. While the Chaser was taking her victory lap, Bole and Derrick ganged up on Wood -- only to be penalized by Madame Hooch for "attacking the Keeper while the Quaffle is not within the scoring area" or something. There was loud complaining from the Slytherins, but nothing could stop Hooch once she was on a penalty spree -- and this was shaping up to be her best run ever. 

The penalty shot was good. 

Melissa was running her hands over her face in vacant disbelief. "Seventy-ten, this can't be happening," she moaned. "Where -- where -- is Bruce?" 

Beth grabbed the binoculars and turned away from the field, which was becoming a scene of carnage. Instead she scanned the stands. Bruce had to be here somewhere -- he would never miss a game unless he was on his deathbed -- but then Marcus would've surely had the game postponed if that was the case. And he had looked fine yesterday ... 

She trained the binoculars on the ground in front of the Slytherin stands, and her heart gave a little leap. "There he is!" she said shrilly, and Melissa grabbed the binoculars to see for herself. 

Bruce sat on the sidelines, looking skyward at the players with an unreadable expression. A large black dog -- from town, maybe a stray -- had settled itself beside him, and Bruce scratched its neck absently. Apart from the dog, he was utterly alone. 

"Penalty!" screeched Madame Hooch. They looked back at the game in time to see Draco let go of the back of Potter's broomstick. Everyone within range looked furious: Hooch, Wood, McGonagall, the stands full of Gryffindor supporters. Lee Jordan was ranting and swearing like a madman, all "fair commentary" forgotten. 

Fortunately, Aaron was able to block the penalty shot, although he didn't look much encouraged. The Slytherins, well used to playing while hundreds of hissing fans looked on, took advantage of the other team's lack of concentration. Uther got hold of the Quaffle and managed a score on Oliver Wood, who shouted back angrily even as Lee called "Seventy-twenty to Gryffindor ..." in a very disappointed tone. 

The Gryffindors had started to play dirty. Potter stuck by Draco like a leech, getting in his way at every turn. "_Penalty!_" shrieked Melissa, which of course no one obeyed. "He's _dogging_ him!" 

"Angelina Johnson gets the Quaffle for Gryffindor, come on, Angelina, COME ON!" Lee Jordan shouted, almost falling out of the press box. Johnson shot down the field; the Slytherins regrouped and rushed her for a block. Just as they were certain to regain the Quaffle, Potter went pelting into them, scattering the angry Slytherins and clearing a path for Johnson. She zoomed up to the hapless Aaron and scored easily. 

The Gryffindors exulted. "SHE SCORES!" roared Lee Jordan. "Gryffindor leads by eighty to twenty!" 

"Draco's free!" screeched Melissa, grabbing onto Beth's sleeve in her excitement. "He's got it, look at him, he's got it!" 

She wasn't the only one who had noticed Draco's dive. The crowd was going wild with excitement. Jordan was bellowing, "_Malfoy sees the Snitch -- he's going for it -- come on, Harry, you can do it!_" 

"_Shut up, Jordan!_" Melissa shrieked hopelessly. "Go faster, Draco, please go faster!" 

Draco had a good head start, but Potter's Firebolt was doing its job; he drew level with Draco, inch by painful inch -- Draco was almost there, reaching out -- 

Potter shoved Draco's arm aside and lunged forward. 

"FOUL!" howled Marcus, but it was too late. Potter rose into the air, fist held high in victory. 

The stands exploded with cheers. Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Gryffindors poured onto the field, lifting the team above their heads and carrying them to where Dumbledore stood, beaming, with the Quidditch Cup -- which had made its home in the Slytherin common room for eight years. 

The Gryffindors buried each other in a joyous pile in the middle of the field, Quidditch Cup held high above their heads. 

The Slytherins were numb with shock. The team landed, stunned and angry. Draco was furious, and had to be held back by the Beaters from trying to rush the Gryffindor crowd; Aaron looked like he wanted to commit suicide. Their classmates in the stands just stood and looked at each other, open-mouthed. We lost? We couldn't have. We really lost? 

Beth felt half sick. She looked down at where Bruce had been sitting, but he was gone. She nudged Melissa and pointed to the empty spot. 

"We have to find him," she said, worriedly. 

They hurried down from the stands, pushing their way through the hundreds of rejoicing fans. 

Bruce wasn't in the locker rooms. (That was a blessing, because Marcus Flint was in there, having the biggest tantrum of his life.) He wasn't in the common room or even back in the boys' dorms. Beth and Melissa checked the Great Hall and the Vase Room before heading back outside to look around the grounds. 

They finally found Bruce sitting with his back against a tree on the far side of the lake. The huge black dog from the match was there, laying his head on Bruce's lap while the boy scratched his ears absently. They approached Bruce with some trepidation. When they were about twenty feet away, he looked up at them and gave the dog one final pat on the flanks. It trotted away. Beth and Melissa sat down. 

They didn't say anything for a while, just sat in a circle not really looking at each other. Then Bruce said: "Well?" 

"Where'd you get the dog?" Beth said, after a pause. 

Bruce shrugged listlessly. "Just sort of wandered up. Hope he wasn't rabid." 

More silence. Then Melissa said: 

"Why did you do it?" 

Bruce picked a piece of grass and nibbled on the end of it, gazing reflectively into the sky. "We weren't going to win anyway." 

"But if we'd only blocked those penalties --" Beth said, too hastily. 

Bruce shook his head. "I'm not that good. Nobody's that good. Marcus's strategy was all wrong; he figured I could just block whatever penalties we got and that would help keep the Gryffindors behind." He shrugged. "It wasn't going to work. I just didn't want to be there to be part of losing." 

Beth was quiet. "Marcus is furious." 

"Serves him right." Bruce's voice was hard. "Anyway it doesn't matter, he's gone in a few months and he's not captain next year anyhow." 

He chewed on his blade of grass for a little while longer. Then he spoke up. "Know what's the biggest thing, though? Puddlemere United was scouting the game and we all knew it. Marcus thought he could impress them with all that fouling -- he's tough enough to play in the professional leagues, and all that. It would've just made me look bad, though, having to beat them off all the time, wear myself out." 

Understanding dawned in Beth's mind. "You still want to be a professional Keeper," she said, with some awe. 

Bruce nodded curtly. "Damned if I'm giving up my chance so that Marcus can play like a troll." 

Even Melissa had nothing to say to that. 


	17. Battles and Plans

**Chapter Seventeen: Battles and Plans**

Things were extremely tense in the Slytherin house. 

Not everyone knew exactly how or why they had lost the Quidditch match, so the whole team fell under the blame. Those who did know either avoided Bruce or went out of their way to jostle him in the halls. He wasn't the only one, though: the Chasers took a lot of flak for their disgraceful performance. Only Draco remained unscathed; since no one had ever beaten Potter to the Snitch, except Diggory (which was admittedly a fluke), no one had really expected him to catch it. 

The Quidditch team had always been like a single-minded entity, a close group that ate and practiced together. Now, they seemed to go seven separate ways. At the S.S.A meeting that Thursday, Beth noticed that Bruce and Uther were taking a lot of trouble to avoid talking to one another. The only ones that still hung together were the Beaters, Bole and Derrick, and even they were touchier than usual. 

Then again was Marcus Flint. For the first week he went around in a kind of hurt daze. He neither looked at Bruce nor spoke to him. 

Things came to a head one evening in the common room, about two weeks after the game. Bruce was studying with Beth and Mervin, while Marcus and a few seventh-years worked on the other side of the room. Without warning, Marcus slammed his book down onto the table, stood up, and bellowed, "What the hell were you thinking?" 

Bruce was standing too, as quick as a wink. "What the hell were you thinking?" he roared back. 

"I thought you'd go along for the team!" Marcus stalked across the common room. 

"I thought you knew better," growled Bruce, shoving away his chair and moving toward Marcus. "You can't trust anyone to block penalties like that." 

"You said you could, you said it was better than the Double-Eight --" 

"Once or twice, not seven or eight times in a row!" 

"If you'd just blocked one of them we would've kept the Cup!" 

"Or if you'd fouled once or twice less!" Bruce's chest heaved with emotion. "Look at the example you've set! The whole school thinks we're these thugs on broomsticks, not _talented_ or _dedicated_ players, just goons with clubs!" 

They were now standing in the middle of the common room, almost nose to nose, glaring and snarling like a pair of junkyard dogs. 

"What you have done to our reputation," Bruce went on, his voice in a low growl, "is going to take years to fix." 

"What about what _you_ did to _me?_" Marcus reached out and grabbed the front of Bruce's shirt in both fists. "Puddlemere United was at that game, Bletchley, to see me win. My whole _future_ was riding on that game, which you _ruined_, by not bothering to even _show!_" 

"You ruined your own future," Bruce spat. "I didn't want you to wreck mine too." 

It was hard to tell what exactly happened after that, but the next thing anyone knew, Bruce and Marcus were on the ground amid a flurry of flying fists and grunts of pain. People stopped and stared at the fight; those closer to the middle of the common room cleared out, making a ring of onlookers around the walls. Occasionally, angry words could be heard amid the fracas: 

"-- backstabber --" 

"-- ruddy moron --" 

"-- selfish -- git --" 

"What's all this?!?" Richard stormed up, looking officious and angry. He hesitated only momentarily when he saw who was fighting; then he whipped out his wand and bellowed, "_Diaspora!_" 

It had the very same effect as a pair of teachers grabbing each boy by the collar. Bruce and Marcus went flying backwards in opposite directions. Each scrambled to his feet, but before they could get at it again, Richard was between them, demanding to know what this was all about. 

"Just a disagreement about strategy," Marcus sneered in Richard's face, breathing heavily. Bruce, fuming behind Richard, made no comment. 

"You're graduating in two months, Marcus, you don't want to screw it up by doing something stupid," Richard said sternly, matching the Quidditch captain glare for glare. "Get outside and practice until you wear yourself out." 

Marcus pointed a shaking finger at Bruce. "Thanks to _him_, I don't have anything to practice _for_," he snarled. He made as if to go after Bruce again, but Richard was there, glaring, for all the world as formidable as McGonagall. 

"_Out_, Marcus." 

Growling, Marcus turned and started out of the common room. Deprived of his prey, he lashed out at anyone close enough to hit on the way out. Two wide-eyed first-years fled from his path. Just as he reached the door, he reached out and gave Mervin a hard shove in the chest. The smaller boy went sprawling. 

In a flash, a blur of color whizzed past Beth as Gina launched herself from her corner and planted her fangs into Marcus's arm. The Quidditch captain roared in pain and started swinging his arm around, trying to shake off Gina, but she was too large by now to be easily moved. Rat scurried up beside her, climbed onto Marcus's foot and started gnawing earnestly at his ankle. Marcus kicked out in panic and sent Rat flying across the room and into the wall, where it hit with a thud and sank down senseless. 

"_Mervin, get her off of him!_" Richard cried, over Marcus's bellowing. 

Obediently, Mervin leapt to his feet. "Gina! Get down! Get back over here!" 

Gina held on for a fraction of a minute longer before dropping to the ground and slithering away before Marcus could stamp her underfoot. 

"Look what it did to me!" Marcus howled, holding out his arm toward Richard. Two large holes were leaking blood and some other milky fluid. The edges of the wound were swollen and starting to change color. "I bet the bloody thing is poisonous. I'm gonna kill it," he added fervently, a feverish glaze coming to his eyes. 

"Go see Madame Pomfrey," Richard ordered. He scanned the room. "Uther, go with him to be sure he makes it all right. _Now_, before it gets worse." 

Muttering and grasping his injured arm, Marcus stalked out of the common room, with Uther close behind. 

Richard turned and went to where Mervin knelt by the far wall, gently stroking Gina and prodding the fallen Rat. He looked up at Richard. "Is he dead?" 

"If Marcus ever sees you with that snake again, _you'll_ be dead," said Richard shortly. He hunkered down and carefully picked up the rat. "He's not bleeding." 

Mervin leaned over him anxiously. "Come on, Rat, you can't die nobly, only Gryffindors die nobly," he pleaded. "You're a Slytherin rat, and Slytherins _live_." 

"I don't think he can hear you," Richard began gently, but one of Rat's front paws -- the one missing a finger -- gave a little jerk. 

Mervin scooped him out of Richard's hand ecstatically and stood up as Rat came groggily to life, twitching and struggling as if he wasn't entirely sure what he had just been involved in. Mervin held out the rat to Gina and cried, "Look, he's alive!" He dropped to his knees. 

Beth had never seen anyone hug a snake, and would never have believed it possible if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes. 

***

Gina's and Rat's unprovoked acts of bravery were all that Mervin could talk about for days. 

"And she saw me fall down," Mervin narrated breathlessly, as they sat around the Vase Room that Thursday waiting for Richard to arrive, "and _boom_, just like that she goes ripping over and just _plants_ it on that big goon!" Mervin had never before expressed anything but mild admiration for Marcus Flint. "And Rat sees she's in trouble, and he practically tries to chew the Quid-head's foot off!" 

Rat looked up from atop the Ledger and chittered proudly. 

"You know, some of us _did_ see it happen," said Bruce dourly. He and Marcus had made tentative peace since the explosive argument; perhaps it was just an attempt to avoid losing house points for fighting, but Beth knew that they were deeper friends than they let on. 

"It's worth repeating, though, isn't it?" Mervin argued, stroking Gina's head. "I was going to write an epic poem about it, but I couldn't think of anything that rhymed with 'attack'." 

"Cataract," Uther suggested immediately. 

Mervin's eyes lit up. "Ooh, good thinking!" Gina raised her head and unmistakably rolled her eyes at him. 

The door to the Vase Room banged shut and Richard strode into the room. He went to the front of the room and stood there. Beth thought he looked very pleased with himself. 

"Make it quick, will you, Rich?" asked Uther lazily. "I've got McGonagall in the morning, and for some reason she just can't take it when someone falls asleep in class." 

"Oh fancy that," said Melissa sarcastically. 

Richard just shook his head and smiled. "Now, I know it's been slow around here for a while, but listen up. We've got our biggest job ever and we don't have long to get ready." 

Astonished clamor started to rise from the members. Uther sat up straighter in his armchair. Evan quirked an eyebrow, but that was all. 

"Beth's father is in trouble, and we're going to get him out of it." 

At first, Beth wasn't entirely sure she had heard him correctly. Then she realized that everyone had turned to look at her and her face flushed a brilliant red. She stared at Rich in growing horror. "No, Rich, it's all right -- you don't have to --" 

"Too late," he grinned. He turned back to the group. "Beth's father was caught illegally sending messages to the rest of her family in Azkaban. They've got one piece of evidence on him, but Beth says there's hundreds more inside the prison, and before her father's trial they plan on searching for them. Right?" Beth nodded numbly. "So, all we've got to do is steal the message that they found, and go and get all of the ones they haven't yet." 

Bruce was looking at Richard like he was out of his mind. "So you want us to break into Azkaban." 

Richard nodded. "Among other things." 

There was silence. 

"That sounds like fun," said Herne brightly. 

"Give us a chance to get out of the castle," Melissa reasoned. 

Bruce nodded. "Kind of a field trip." 

"Aye, a bonny jaunt!" said Morag cheerfully. 

"Especially since we'll all end up there eventually anyway," said Blaise, with a wicked smile. 

Uther chimed in: "I say, and I can visit my Uncle Cuthbert at the same time! Bit of a family reunion for all of us, I'll bet." 

"And a challenge," said Evan darkly. 

Beth looked around at all of them, in amazement. She tried to say again that there was no reason to do anything that dangerous, that it would all work out eventually -- but the words caught in her throat and she had to bury her head in her arms and sob onto the Ledger for a full minute before she was sure she could make sense again. 

***

"The first step," Richard explained, "is to get hold of a map of Azkaban." 

The members of the S.S.A nodded thoughtfully. Beth, once she had gotten hold of herself, was ready to listen to the plan. After the initial shock of the mission, she was beginning to embrace it -- this was the only hope she had. 

"I've already contacted a couple of members," he went on. "There are at least three of them available, the Ledger says so, but I had to track them down. I owled Gypsy -- she says one of her professors has a copy, she's setting us up a chance to meet him on Wednesday." 

"At Durmstrang?" Melissa said eagerly. "Can I come along?" 

"_Everybody_ can come," said Richard grandly. Then he gave Beth an evil grin. "We have to leave at four in the morning." 

"I'm out," said Uther immediately. 

"_Four?_" repeated Herne, as if he couldn't imagine that anything happened that early in the morning. 

"Time zones," Blaise explained, with a superior glance at Herne. "Morag and I have a test for McGonagall that day, there's no way we can come." 

Morag looked faintly surprised. 

By the time everyone had backed out due to schoolwork, activities or general laziness, only Melissa and Mervin were left, in addition to Richard and Beth. "That's fine," said Richard. "It's easier to sneak out a smaller group anyhow." 

One by one they filed out of the Vase Room, some still whispering excitedly about the audacity of their scheme. Beth grabbed Richard's arm before he could leave. She waited until everyone else was gone before asking: 

"Why are you helping my father?" 

There was a pause as Richard regarded her carefully. Then he shrugged and gave a lopsided grin. 

"Things were getting a bit dull this year, don't you think?" 

As they went back to the Slytherin common room, Beth didn't notice that a slight blush had risen in his face. 

~~~~~~~~   
**[A/n:]** Springrain, Glaisig Uaine is a generic term for banshee (Scottish, I think.) You can read more about the different kinds of banshee at the Encyclopedia Mythica on pantheon.org. thistlemeg: Go on and rhapsodize about Evan any time you want. You people think about these characters harder than I do. Lyta: Richard's duel with the fourth-year is Canon. (Chapter 15 PoA, pg 301 in my copy.) Unrepentant: You notice that the Gryffindors were getting fouled JUST as much as the Slytherins this time around. :-) Sirius Black: *bows politely* Thank you for letting me know; however, I think that my assumption isn't nearly as questionable as yours. And everybody: Thanks so much for all the reviews. Although I've read the phrase "Poor Richard" so many times this week that I could write an almanac. :-)   
I'm going to be away for a few days, so here's a few chapters to chew on until I get back. Gloria serpens! 


	18. Professor Viridian

**Chapter Eighteen: Professor Viridian**

The night before the Durmstrang excursion, Beth couldn't sleep. She had gone to bed early, knowing that they had to leave at four in the morning, but instead of getting extra sleep she tossed and turned, flitting between conscious and semiconscious states. When her alarm clock finally went off in the wee hours, she got up and dressed with a weary kind of relief: at least now she could be fully awake, if not fully asleep. 

She and Melissa crept downstairs to the common room to find Richard and Mervin already there. Neither of them looked any worse for the early hour. She rubbed her eyes distractedly. 

Richard came up to Beth and put a hand on her shoulder. "Are you ready to go?" 

Beth took a deep breath and nodded slowly. "Yeah. I think so." 

"How are we getting there?" Mervin stood there with his hands on his hips and Gina coiled comfortably around his shoulders. "Portkey?" 

Richard shook his head. "I really don't trust Portkeys that far. We're taking a much more direct path." 

He dug around in his pocket and pulled out a flattish red circle of what looked like glass. Going to the far wall of the common room, he bent down and stuck the circle onto the wall, right at the bottom. There was a faint sound of chimes that rose and died quickly. 

"Gypsy's got it all fixed up for us," he explained. "She has one already attached at Durmstrang. You need two, otherwise when you go through you end up suspended in space." 

"Go through what?" asked Melissa dubiously. 

"The wall, of course." Richard nodded his head at the stone wall. "Come on, all through. We'll need all the time we can get." 

For a moment everyone stood around looking at each other. Then Mervin swallowed hard and went up to the wall. He reached out as if to gently press his hands onto the stone, and fell right through. 

A moment later his head sprung from the wall, like a mounted piece in a hunting lodge. "It works," he reported with a grin, and his head went back into the wall with a *pop*. 

Emboldened, Melissa forged through the wall. It was as if the wall had become just an illusion. Beth stared after them, unable to believe that the stones were simply not real. 

Richard nudged her elbow. "Come on." He took her arm and they went over to the wall. Beth shut her eyes and stepped into the wall. 

It was like being enveloped in a wet, warm fog. Beth had been expecting resistance of some kind, but there was none; she stumbled forward, tripped, and fell clattering into what felt like a pile of sticks. 

"All right, Beth?" came Mervin's voice, and his hand encircled her arm and helped her to stand back up. Thusly righted, she took the chance to look around. The three of them were all huddled quite close together in a very small wooden room -- more like a closet. It was extremely cold. A pile of broomsticks was scattered at her feet; no doubt, they had broken her fall. 

Without warning, Richard strode through the wall. "All here? Excellent!" he said, rubbing his hands together. "Gypsy says we're to meet her on the grounds outside of the castle." 

"Aren't we already inside the castle?" Melissa asked, her voice muffled by the sleeve that she held pressed over her face. "It's so cold in here --" 

The door swung open and they all turned towards it. There stood a boy of perhaps Richard's age, with deep black eyebrows and a sharply hooked nose. 

They stood and stared at each other for a moment of blank surprise. Then the hook-nosed boy roared, "_No, I vill not autograph your broomsticks!_" and slammed the door in their faces. 

Melissa looked around at them in blank disbelief. 

"They're just as weird here as they are back home," Mervin said cheerfully. 

"You're one to talk," said Melissa, eyeing the nine-foot-long snake around his shoulders. 

Richard shushed them with a wave of his hand. "Now let's see, Gypsy said she'd -- aha --" He rummaged around under a pile of broomsticks and came up with his arms full of blood-red cloth. "Put these on," he ordered, tossing the cloth toward the others. 

It turned out to be several sets of robes in blood-red, with an unfamiliar black seal on the arm. "Just throw them overtop, it doesn't matter," said Richard. "We just have to blend in. You'll want the extra layer anyway," he added. He dug around a bit more and pulled out some huge furry cloaks. 

"All set?" he asked, when they were suited up. 

"Yeah, we're all ready for the yak convention," said Melissa, plucking at her fur cloak with distaste. 

Richard gave her a look that was half disapproving and half amused. Carefully he reached forward and opened the door. 

A chilly blast of wind burst onto them as relentless as a freezing cold tide. Beth drew the fur cloak closer around herself. Now that the doorway wasn't obstructed by the heavy-browed boy, she could see out onto a broad expanse of brittle, dead grass overshadowed by a murky white sky. One by one they stepped out the door. 

The "room" had been nothing more than a broom shed, a solitary structure in the middle of a vast open field. The grounds were littered with students, all in fur-lined capes. Where their capes fell open, Beth could see blood-red robes. To the left, a low and boxy type of castle rose from the frozen earth and made a dark square in the cloudy sky. Richard started towards the castle, and gradually the rest followed him. 

Above them, a dozen or more students sped through the air on broomsticks, fur capes trailing out behind them as they dipped and spun. Mervin watched them raptly, and Gina, looped several times around his neck, followed his gaze. Beth had never been good on a broomstick; it was thrilling to watch what they could accomplish with a talented rider. 

"Just act natural," Richard muttered through the side of his mouth. "Pretend like we belong here." 

They started to walk along the grounds. At every step, fur-caped students turned to watch them curiously. Beth blushed a bright red despite herself. She tried not to think of all those eyes watching her, people she didn't know and would (hopefully) never see again ... 

"Richard! Over here!" 

A look of intense relief washed over Richard's face. "Gypsy!" he called, waving his hand in the air. He strode in the direction of the voice. At the same time, a group of about five students began coming towards them. As they came closer, Beth could make out that the one in front was a girl, with dark, alluring eyes and a secretive smile. Her face was vaguely familiar: they had met briefly at the funeral of Baltus Gatherum, over a year ago. 

As they came together, Gypsy held out her hands and Richard took them fondly. "It's good to see you. Thanks for the help," he added hastily, looking back at the third-years. "You remember Beth, Melissa, and Mervin?" 

"Of course," smiled Gypsy. She nodded her head politely and Beth noticed a large beauty mark at the side of her mouth. "Let me introduce my classmates. This is Josef Poliakoff, Katya Vulchanov, Andrei Gregorovich, and Maria-Regina Dolohov." She pointed out each of her friends in turn. Then she said something to her friends in another language; Beth could only pick out her own name among the jumble of unfamiliar words. 

Andrei Gregorovich took a step forward and made a polite bow. "Ve are pleased to meet you," he said, in a very thickly-accented voice. 

The other boy in the group, Josef Poliakoff, jumped forward and pushed the other one out of the way, before bowing so low that his nose almost touched the ground. "Ve are _most_ pleased and _humbled_ to play host to two beautiful ladies," he elaborated grandly. He grinned roguishly up at them while the other scowled. "Do not listen to Gregorovich," he confided to Beth and Melissa. "He is only a flirt." 

Beth giggled. Melissa, however, looked at the other boy with considerably more interest. "Gregorovich?" she asked, pointing to him. "I'm Ollivander." She pointed to herself and then drew her wand from her pocket. "Ollivander -- like the wands, see?" 

Gregorovich exclaimed something in Russian before breaking into a wide smile. "Yes -- my family makes vands also," he said, his accent still thick but his tone pleased. "Ve are not qvite as old Olliffanders, but ve do very vell." He took out his own wand and held it out to her. "Spruce and the heartstrings of a Romanian Longhorn." 

"Really!" said Melissa, taking the wand and looking it over with glittering eyes. "Isn't spruce too sticky to work with?" 

"Vell, the sap must be dried off, but ve haff had great success vith roasting them," Gregorovich explained enthusiastically. He took her wand and ran his fingers up and down its length. "Your vand is very slender," he said, eyeing it with a practiced gaze. "And phoenix feathers? Ve vould never use such a core. Who knows vhen it vould catch fire?" 

He and Melissa laughed together. 

"I told you he vos a flirt," said Josef, wiggling his eyebrows at Beth. "How about you, vould you like to see my vand?" 

"Josef!" Gypsy scolded, while Beth, Katya and Maria-Regina all fell into hysterical laughter. (Richard and Mervin just stood there looking faintly embarrassed.) "Behave yourself. Anyhow, we can't stay here and chat; they have an appointment with Professor Viridian." 

"Ah." Josef nodded, eyes glinting. "Your British friends are friends vith our British professor. It is a small world, yes? Vould you like to go to dinner sometime?" he added, turning back to Beth. 

She blushed and smiled. "No." 

Josef bowed again. "Of course. Vot about lunch?" 

"Josef, go _away!_" ordered Gypsy. "You know how much Professor Viridian hates it when people are late." 

"Yes, but I haff always grown my nose back again," said Josef, mouth twitching with good humor. "Come Andrei, I'm afraid Gypsy is tired of us." He grabbed Gregorovich's arm, to no avail; he was deep in a discussion with Melissa about the possibility of using the hair of a centaur for a magical core. 

"I just don't see how it would conduct any magic, they stay away from wizards on purpose," she argued heatedly, pointing the wand at him like a sword. 

"It vould be ideal for Diffination and healing," Gregorovich argued back. He was gripping her wand in both hands. "Just _vonce_, to try it --" 

"I don't care what they say, they're _beings_, you can't go ripping the hair out of _sentient creatures_ --" 

"Melissa, we've got to go," Beth said loudly. Melissa stopped talking and turned to her sheepishly. 

"Sorry." She put her wand back in her pocket before stretching out her hand toward Gregorovich. "It was nice to meet you." 

He took her hand and kissed it. "It vos my pleasure." 

Melissa beamed. 

They followed Gypsy across the grounds and up to the castle. It was squat and square, with none of the towers or spires of Hogwarts. There were very few windows, and these were narrow and sparse. "To keep the cold out," Gypsy explained. "You've come on a good day; it's frightfully cold in the winters." 

The entrance hall was, again, nothing like at Hogwarts. It was merely a small circular room with no furnishings and corridors branching off in five or six directions. Gypsy took them into the second corridor from the left. 

She led them through a hallway with gorgeous hardwood floors and richly colored tapestries on either side. Beth found herself marveling at the scenes they depicted: firebirds and dense coniferous forests and wizards in bear-fur and armor. 

"There are only four floors," Gypsy explained. "No trick staircases; it's the doors you really have to watch out for. Some days they lead to different rooms, sometimes they lead nowhere at all and you end up tottering on the edge of a big crevasse." She laughed, a soft and pearly sound. Richard joined in. 

"Of course, there aren't four houses like there are at Hogwarts. We learn in forms; the faster students are in the top form, slower ones at the bottom. Very competitive, the top form," she added. 

"I'll bet you're top of the top," said Richard charmingly. 

Gypsy smiled up at him. "Gloria serpens." 

Beth rolled her eyes. Melissa caught her expression and grinned. 

The corridors were far less dingy than the ones at Hogwarts; the wood seemed to glow with warmth, betraying the cold that hung in the air so that Beth had to pull her cloak around herself tighter. They passed open doors with students bent over parchments, their breath rising before them in chilly little clouds, and closed doors with elaborate decorations on them, some brightly colored, others garnished in pine boughs or ribbon. 

"Here we are," Gypsy said cheerfully. She had stopped in front of an ornately-carved door. "Go on in, he knows you're here. Just make sure he sees the ring right away." She hesitated. "And try not to get in his way." 

A long, low chime sounded through the halls. "Oh, bother classes," Gypsy said irritably. "Well -- good luck!" She leaned up and kissed Richard on the cheek, who looked extremely surprised but pleased. She hurried off through the castle, hips swinging alluringly. 

Scowling, Beth turned and banged hard on Professor Viridian's door. It swung open after only two knocks; unfortunately, that left Beth's fist careening into the opening, where a short goateed man peered up at them through thick, round glasses. Her fist continued on its path and collided with the pair of glasses. The man dropped to the ground. 

Beth gasped in horror and drew back as he struggled to his feet. "I'm so sorry -- didn't mean --" she stammered, flushing a brilliant red. 

"Quite all right," the Professor replied, with a great deal of difficulty. Once he was upright he sized them up one by one. "You'll be the students from Hogwarts." 

"Yes," Richard interjected hastily. He held out his hand so that the Professor could see the S.S.A. ring clearly. 

After a moment, he shook Richard's hand, very formally. "Welcome. I am Professor Vindictus Viridian, student of curses and countercurses, author, and teacher." He opened the door to his office. "Come in. I have the thing you seek." They followed him inside. 

The office was a shambles. Books and scrolls lay strewn across the floor; desks, couches and tables were covered with fallen bric-a-brac, old pieces of equipment, loose notes, and broken quills; a pile of dirty robes in one corner shuddered as they came in before settling down. 

"You're very lucky I had time to help you," Professor Viridian said stiffly, as he strode through the disastrous office. "I've been writing a new book lately -- oof --" he stumbled over a hassock lying askance on a pile of books. "Curse you!" The hassock exploded. 

Alarmed, Beth glanced up at Richard. He looked fairly amused. 

The Professor made it to his desk and began digging through the foot-high pile on top of it. "This book --" he went on. "Going to be a best-seller -- _Hexes for the Home and Abroad_. Some of the best curses to date, all in one handy reference." He spilled a bottle of ink without noticing. 

"I read one of your books," Mervin said suddenly. "_A Jinx for All Occasions_." 

"Oh!" Professor Viridian stopped shoveling things off of his desk and smiled up at him toothily. "Did you like it?" 

"I loved it," said Mervin honestly. "The Sleep of Bacchus curse came in especially handy." 

"Ah yes," said Professor Viridian, nodding sagely. "One of my favorites." He dropped a book onto his foot. "Ouch! Curse you!" The book burst into flame and vanished. 

Melissa, eyes on the spot where the book had been, drew a little closer to Beth. 

"Aha, here we are!" Professor Viridian bent down and shoved aside a pile of crinkled scrolls before opening up the very bottom drawer of his desk. "I knew I had it somewhere in here. So I wouldn't lose it," he added conspiratorially. "Very valuable." Melissa barely concealed a snort. 

The Professor pulled out a crisp sheet of manila and struggled through the mess towards a table in the middle of the room. Sweeping aside dirty vials and several broken quills, he laid it out and bent over it studiously. Gingerly, the students picked their way through the miscellany on the floor to get a better look. 

"I must mention," said the Professor, straightening unexpectedly. "I will not have this map used to 'break anyone out' as you might say. To do so is extremely dangerous and difficult. I must insist upon this. Fellow members or no, dire consequences will follow if you attempt to free a prisoner." He glared up at them through his thick glasses. 

"We won't," Richard promised. "We just need to do a basic break-in." 

"That's all right, then," said Professor Viridian mildly. Beth cast an exasperated look at Melissa, who shrugged in return. "Now let me show you what we have here." He bent over the parchment and, taking out his wand, tapped it four times, once in each corner. "We have a very basic Obscuring spell on the ink -- in case it falls into the wrong hands," he added to Richard, who nodded in understanding. "Reverse the process to conceal it again. Let's see -- here we are." 

At once, droplets of ink rose out of the parchment and scooted around the page before falling into a pattern of lines, squares, and shading. Beth leaned closer. It was obviously the floor plan to an enormous fortress. She thought of what it must look like in real life and shuddered. 

"Here's the main floor," the Professor explained, pointing to the lower left-hand quadrant. "Offices, courtrooms, barracks, things like that -- stay away from it, there are dementors all round," he said severely. "The second floor ..." He tapped the lower right-hand quadrant "... is for short-term stays. Petty criminals. I daresay you're not going there," he said to Richard, who nodded. "Third floor's life or nearly-life sentences. Fourth floor is the Death Eater wing." 

"That's the one," said Richard eagerly. "Can we get more detail?" 

Professor Viridian sniffed. "Watch and learn, boy." He tapped the quadrant in the upper right quarter of the parchment and it expanded before their eyes until it filled the entire sheet. Some of the ink spots didn't stop in position, though; a number of them moved restlessly up and down the paper, as if they couldn't decide where to go. 

"The specks are dementors," said Professor Viridian. He looked excited. "It plots where they are at all times, see? Each cell is labeled with its current occupant." He pointed to an empty cell near what appeared to be a stairwell. "Sirius Black was in this one." 

His was the only empty cell on the block. Tiny names were inscribed inside each square cell. They all have a window, Beth thought absurdly. She scanned through the names without much recognition: Travers, Dolohov, Rookwood, Lestrange. Then there it was: Parson, Parson, and Parson, all in a row. The breath caught in her throat. 

"There," she said hoarsely, pointing at the row of Parsons. "Those are the ones." 

Professor Viridian squinted through his thick glasses at the names. "Ah yes, the Parson family. Their capture caused a brief scandal -- mother leading her two young sons into the service of the Dark Lord. Then more pressing news came up and it was forgotten." He waved his hand distractedly. "Which one will you be laying siege to?" 

"All of them," Beth said firmly. The sick sinking feeling that she had started out with was coming back now, as she realized the magnitude of their quest and what would happen if they failed. "We need to do all three." 

Richard put a hand on her shoulder; she flinched away automatically. 

Professor Viridian rolled up the map and handed it to Beth, who clutched it tightly. "Well, that's all I can give you. For the rest you'll have to --" 

"The rest?" Beth repeated. "I thought this was the whole map." 

"Oh, it is," said Professor Viridian, waving a hand in the air, "but you can't go and break into a fortress like this with nothing but a map. No, no, you'll need advice, perhaps even assistance." He snapped his fingers. "Of course -- Bode and Croaker." 

"What's that?" asked Mervin. 

The Professor turned back to his desk, tripped on a cracked vase, and went sprawling headlong into the mess. "Curses!" The vase disintegrated into a pile of ash. Mervin swallowed hard. 

Professor Viridian scrambled to his feet and stumbled to his desk as if nothing had happened. "It's not a what -- they're a who," he said, shuffling through papers. "Oh, don't worry, they're members," he said to Richard, who was looking skeptical. "Haven't seen them a day apart since they started at Hogwarts. They work at your Ministry now -- Department of Mysteries -- aha!" He pulled a misshapen piece of paper out and held it up to the light. The edges were all torn up, and large chunks were missing from all four corners. "Yes -- this would be them --" He handed the paper to Richard. 

Richard looked down at the paper, flipped it over, and looked back up at the Professor. "It's blank." 

"What, you would have me write on it?" Professor Viridian scoffed. 

Melissa rolled her eyes and struggled back what was surely a snide comment. 

Richard was still turning the paper over in his hands as if hoping that some writing would appear. "So ... how do you ..." 

Professor Viridian laughed. "How do you summon them? Tear off a piece and drop it in a fire. They'll come," he said cryptically. "Mind you, I'll expect it back when you're done. Good for a bridge game, Bode and Croaker." 

Richard put the paper carefully in his pocket before shaking hands with Professor Viridian. "Thanks for all your help. I can't tell you how important this is to us." Beth was surprised that he used the plural pronoun. 

The Professor escorted them to the door, chuckling. "Why, I could do no less. Gloria serpens," he added cheerfully. "Anyhow, it was good to hear the King's English spoken with a proper accent again." He opened the door for them and they filed out one by one. "Best of luck to you all." 

"Thank you," said Richard again. 

Professor Viridian smiled cordially, nodded, and slammed the door on his own hand. There was a muffled shout. Then the door erupted into large fleshy boils. 

Richard turned to look at the others. "Well," he said, with a grin. "That went well." 


	19. Unexpected Meetings

**Chapter Nineteen: Unexpected Meetings**

They wandered around the halls for a bit, admiring the tapestries and woodwork, until they made it back to the round, paneled entrance hall. Mervin yawned suddenly. "What time is it?" 

Richard looked at his watch. "Five in the morning, GMT," he said. "We really ought to be getting back." 

"Oh, let's look around a bit first," begged Melissa. "You know no one's ever in the common room before six." 

"Well ..." Richard hesitated. "I suppose ... it's not every day you get to visit a place like this ... Only for a bit, though. We can't risk getting caught: sneaking out to the Vase Room is one thing, but sneaking out to a different continent is something completely different." 

He turned back to one of the corridors and started forward, but before he could get a step farther, a person laden down with large textbooks came barreling out of the hallway and collided with Richard. Both of them reeled backward. The books went flying. 

"Oof -- sorry -- mne ochen' zhal' --" the person said. It scrabbled on the ground for the scattered books. "V speshke --" He started off, but Richard shot out a hand and grabbed his forearm. 

"Riggs." 

Riggs stopped dead and stared at the group of them gathered around. "Rich. Hi." He clutched his books in one hand and nervously pushed his spectacles up his long nose with the other. "What ... ah ... what are you doing here?" 

"Came to see Professor Viridian." Richard bobbed his head awkwardly. "You're in good company up here, between him, you, and Gypsy. Kind of an auxiliary unit to the Society." 

No one laughed. 

"You never reply to my letters," said Richard softly. 

Riggs shuffled a little closer to the door. "Well -- been busy, you know -- learning the language, and all --" 

"I know you, Riggs, I'll bet you knew the language in three months." Richard now wore a kind but unsmiling face. "I just want to remind you that you'll always be a member ... and, that you're always welcome in the Vase Room." 

For a moment, Riggs looked like he wanted to cry. Then a sneer crossed his lips and he spat, "Well, thanks for the invite, Rich, but I left for a reason." He turned and darted away. 

Mervin moved as if to follow, but Richard held him back. Gina hissed impatiently at him. 

"Let him go," said Richard, almost inaudibly. He shook his head, and his face suddenly seemed more careworn than Beth had ever seen it. 

No one was entirely sure what to say about that; fortunately, the low chime sounded again, and the halls began to fill up with students bustling between classes. The Hogwarts students drew closer together and tried not to look suspicious. 

Gypsy came up to them, flanked by the girls that she had introduced earlier. "You look like you survived Professor Viridian fairly well," she laughed. "No pox, demons, or extra limbs. Did it go well?" 

Richard nodded. "Very well. Thank you again." 

Gypsy smiled and dipped her head politely. Her two friends said something to her and bustled away giggling. 

"We were wondering if you could show us around for a little while," Melissa said, stepping up. "It's such a fascinating place, and we've seen so little of it." 

The pretty, dark-haired girl looked uncertain. "I haven't got class now ... perhaps just a few minutes around the grounds. We must be careful, though ... Headmaster Karkaroff would have my head if he found out I'd let in strangers -- and foreign ones at that." 

"We'll never tell," said Richard gallantly. He offered her his arm, and they went back into the bitter cold. 

They strolled across the grounds and up to a dark, unfathomable lake. "If you see a little boy around here, do not follow him," Gypsy said severely, as they stared out across the murky waves. 

Mervin cocked his head. "How come?" 

"He'll simply try to drown you," said Gypsy, in a matter-of-fact tone. "That would be Little Vlad -- he's our vodjanoj, our water demon. He must be out playing with the little-girl ghost that haunts the second floor. They're fast friends." 

The Durmstrang grounds were grand indeed; broad and flat, they were surrounded on all sides by hills and dense coniferous forests that promised danger and adventure. Beth thought that it might be nice to live somewhere with such a vast backyard -- but then the freezing wind cut through her fur cloak, and she reconsidered. 

Melissa spoke up. "Gypsy -- the strangest thing happened when we got here --" Melissa proceeded to describe the boy from the broom shed. When she had finished, Gypsy threw back her head and laughed. 

"He's really rather touchy these days, isn't he?" she said, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "That was Viktor Krum, he's in my year. He plays Seeker for the Vratsa Vultures -- he was just signed to the Bulgarian national Quidditch team -- I suppose the paparazzi is finally getting to him. He probably thought you'd been hiding there all night, trying to waylay him. Never much for fame, Viktor ... he'd be perfectly happy to play Quidditch his whole life even if no one so much as recognized his name. He'd probably prefer it, actually," she added, with a smile. 

Melissa's jaw dropped, and Beth knew that she was cursing herself for missing a chance to consort with an international-side Quidditch player -- one that was apparently becoming increasingly famous, at that. 

Mervin was unimpressed. "All right, it's national-level, but come on, Bulgaria's this tiny little country. I mean how hard could it be?" 

"They're quite good, thank you," Gypsy said curtly. "Vratsa won the European Cup seven times." 

"Okay, sorry," said Mervin hastily. 

Gypsy softened. "It's all right. You can't be expected to know that sort of thing until you actually live there." She smiled. "The boys got me working on it straightaway, though. Viktor had me reciting the best European teams within the first week, and Josef named all his chess pieces after famous players so I'd have to learn them if I wanted to play. 'Rudolf Brand to 6-h'," she recited, and laughed. "And they would all get uptight if I pronounced their names wrong. It was quite a challenge just getting them to move." 

Richard laughed along with her, and she gave him a smile. 

Gypsy led them in a wide circle around the grounds, but Beth could tell they were getting only a hint of the coniferous forests and broad tundra that surrounded the school. She was surprised when they ended up back where they had started, at the broom shed on the outskirts of the grounds. 

"Thanks again for everything," Richard said, as they crammed into the small wooden shed. 

"It was nothing," said Gypsy from the doorway, waving her slim hand in the air. She smiled up at Richard. "Mind if I have a word with you, Rich?" 

Richard looked flustered for one of the first times in Beth's memory. "Er -- all right. Go on ahead," he told everyone, and followed Gypsy around the corner of the broom shack. 

Melissa made a little noise of disbelief. "I wonder if a word is what she wants to have with him," she said tartly. 

Beth gaped at her friend. "He --" 

"Sure doesn't look like it," Mervin said with relish. Beth turned around to find him peering out of a knothole in the side of the shed. 

"Get away from there!" she sputtered, yanking him away. "Who cares what they want to talk about? If it's important he'll tell us! I mean, if it has something to do with the mission, or something ..." She realized she was babbling, and trailed off. 

Richard hurried inside and shut the door, looking quite red in the face. "Well, ah -- all ready then? All right -- through we go -- Gypsy will break the connection, once we're gone --" He grew, if possible, redder. 

Melissa gave Beth a very meaningful look, which she ignored. 

They left the fur cloaks and blood-red robes piled in the broom shed and, considerably colder, stepped through the wall one by one. Mervin bent to remove the red disk from the wall after they were all through and stuck it in his pocket. Beth was relieved to be back in the common room. The trip had been a complete success; they hadn't been seen; and, Beth thought, she would have a chance to shower before class. 

"I told you no one was ever here before six," said Melissa triumphantly, but Richard stared past her. 

There, at a table in the corner, sat Draco Malfoy, staring at them over his open Transfiguration notes. 

There was the briefest of moments when everybody looked at each other in blatant shock. Then Draco let out a yell and jumped up, knocking over his chair and sending a textbook flying. 

"How did you -- you're all ghosts!" he stammered, backing away from them with white-rimmed eyes. 

Mervin jumped forward. "Bacchus Somnulus," he barked. White sparks flew from the end of his wand and missed Draco by a foot. Draco threw himself to the ground, with reflexes no doubt developed on the Quidditch pitch, and started crawling toward the boys' dorms. 

"HELP, THEY'RE MAD, THEY'RE TRYING TO KILL ME --" 

Without thinking, Beth launched herself at Draco and landed on top of him, clamping both hands around his mouth. "_Hex_ him, Mervin," she hissed, as Draco struggled beneath her "_Now!_" 

Mervin stumbled forward, wand outstretched. "Hold him still, I might hit you instead." 

"_Risk it!_" Beth snapped, grappling with the third-year. "Ow -- the bugger _bit_ me!" 

Draco Malfoy was clearly preparing to fight for his life. He writhed, scratched, and bit, desperate to detach whatever demon had appeared through the wall and attacked him for no apparent reason. Mervin took a deep breath and pointed his wand at the two of them. 

"_Petrificus totalus_." 

Beth felt her body stiffen up as tight as a board. All of her joints immediately sprung straight and froze. She fell away from Draco, unable to see anything except what was right in front of her. It felt like someone had stuffed cotton into her ears; everything was hazy and vague. This is what it's like to be comatose, she thought, and a panic started to rise within her. 

Then there was warmth flooding through her, and sound coming back, and Richard was bending over her with relief on his face. "All right?" He held out his hand to her. 

Beth nodded and took his hand to help stand back up. "What happened?" 

"Mervin got you both at the same time," Richard said proudly. "He's already wiped out Draco's memory, just has to unfreeze him and it's done." Sure enough, Mervin was performing the counter-curse just as he spoke, and Draco Malfoy came back into being with an utterly confused expression on his narrow face. 

Richard left Beth's side and hurried over to Draco. "You fell asleep over your books and fell over," he explained, in his best "concerned-prefect" voice. "We think you may have hit your head. Better go back to bed until breakfast." 

Draco raised a slow hand and touched his head gingerly. "Yeah ..." he said, in a voice that was very vague and out-of-character. "Thanks ..." He wandered off to the boys' dormitories, leaving his Transfiguration book behind. 

Richard looked back at the three of them. "Good work this morning, chaps!" he said heartily. "Now let's get in there and put in a full days' worth of classes!" 

Laughing and groaning, they stumbled back to their dormitories to nap for the remaining hour before breakfast. 


	20. Bode and Croaker

**Chapter Twenty: Bode and Croaker**

To Beth's great surprise, she didn't feel the effects of the early excursion to Durmstrang during their morning classes. Possibly it was the three cups of coffee that she had at breakfast, or the thrill of intercontinental travel, but Beth thought it was the exhilaration of knowing that there was some hope -- for her father and her future. 

While the rest of them tried to grab an hour or so of sleep immediately before breakfast, Beth took the chance to look over the map. It was eerie to imagine her family crouched in their cells, and still more eerie to know when the dementors passed, represented by those ominous black dots. For the hundredth time, she was forced to wonder to herself: What are they like now? After twelve years of nothing but their darkest memories, what could be left of them? 

But the success of the mission was enough to buoy her through the morning and even into lunch. It was only afterward, as they assembled for weekly O.W.L.s practice, that she really began to droop. 

They had been revising Transfiguration for several weeks, and all of the Slytherins were sick of it. ("Who wants to see McGonagall an extra two hours a day?" Aaron reasoned.) Beth and Melissa sat beside each other, trying not to fall asleep as McGonagall went on and on about the importance of being able to transform things into other things and the dangers associated therewith. 

"There shall be very little inanimate Transfiguration on the Ordinary Wizarding Levels," said McGonagall. "Nearly all of it is likely to be species-to-species. In fact, expect to see at least one case of animal-to-vegetable transformation, or vice-versa," McGonagall went on. Previous students coming out of the test have told me that fruit is a popular element in the transfiguration section, so I have procured some for our practice session today." A large grapefruit appeared in one hand. "You will be turning this into a rabbit -- and back -- for the rest of the class. I will come around and have each of you perform the spell in turn. You have ten minutes to prepare before I will begin." 

Beth and Melissa were about halfway down the line, so they didn't really start preparing until McGonagall was almost on hand. Between their textbook and everyone else's example, they were able to work out the spell by the time McGonagall got to the Slytherin table. 

"I just want this to be _over,_" said Bruce, watching Mervin grappling with Gina to keep her from eating the rabbit that Aaron had just created from the grapefruit. "Stupid O.W.L.s. Time waster." 

Suddenly, Melissa let out a low, heartfelt groan. Beth turned toward her in time to see her put her wand back in her pocket. 

"What's wrong?" Beth murmured, but before Melissa could reply, McGonagall had reached Beth, with rabbit in hand, and paused while Beth turned the rabbit into a slightly wiggly grapefruit. 

McGonagall fixed up the grapefruit before presenting it to Melissa. "A rabbit, if you please, Miss Ollivander," she said, holding out the grapefruit. 

A brief look of panic crossed Melissa's face. Then she took a deep breath and enunciated, "Rodentia mogrificus." 

The grapefruit vanished. In its place appeared -- not a bunny rabbit -- but an enormous, vicious rat, gnashing its teeth and writhing in McGonagall's grip. 

Professor McGonagall, not usually one to faint in the face of danger, let out a shriek and dropped the rat onto the floor. It scuttled between the students, snapping its teeth at everyone in passing, scraggly fur fluttering at their ankles. Warrington managed to stomp his foot down on the ropy tail, but the rat turned on him with such malicious fury that he let it go again. The Weasley twins almost killed each other scrambling on the floor to catch it. 

Just as Beth was sure that the gruesome creature was going to make a clean getaway, Cedric Diggory broke away from the Hufflepuff table. He pointed his wand at the retreating animal and roared, "_Petrificus Totalus!_" 

The rat stopped dead in its tracks. 

Diggory went to the rat, picked it up by the tail, and carried it back to Professor McGonagall. 

The Hufflepuffs burst into wild applause. Soon the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors were in on it too. Diggory went back to his table, red-faced but clearly enjoying the attention. 

"The Transcongus Brew," Mervin whispered grimly, and Beth shuddered. 

"Thank you, Mr. Diggory," said Professor McGonagall, dignity retrieved now that the rat was no longer squirming in her hands. "That will be ten points to Hufflepuff. Miss Ollivander, you would do well to study the intricacies of getting a species right." Melissa flushed bright red as McGonagall went on down the row and had Bruce turn the rat back into a grapefruit. 

"What happened?" Beth whispered. 

"The basilisk wand!" Melissa hissed back, her eyes alight. "I did the spell right -- it would've turned into a rabbit! The wand changed it all around -- wait till I tell my uncle!" 

Beth wasn't nearly as enthused as her friend. "What are you even doing with that thing in O.W.L.s class?" she demanded under her breath. 

For the first time, Melissa looked defensive. "I didn't have much of a choice! It was either this or -- well, look!" 

She dug in her pocket and handed Beth a wand. Even to Beth's untrained eye, she could tell that it wasn't the sort of wand that you saw around Hogwarts every day. There was something distinctly different about the styling ... 

"It's Gregorovich's," hissed Melissa. "We switched wands and never traded back! I've got to use the basilisk one until we can trade them again. I hoped it wouldn't act so strange, but I'm going to have to deal with it ..." 

"You'd just better hope you get yours back before the actual O.W.L.s," said Beth, giving back the wand. 

Melissa looked horrified. 

***

Progress was stagnant for a week. Beth found herself distracted and forgetful. She read everything that the library had about Azkaban, and -- thanks to Madame Pince, the librarian and the only adult S.S.A. member at Hogwarts -- even got some outside resources. Sometimes she would sink into despair, but other times she considered the map, the ominous-sounding names of Bode and Croaker, and the great hope that was all she had to cling to. 

It was more than that, she thought on the way to breakfast one morning. The mission had really energized the S.S.A. for the first time since the whole Chamber of Secrets incident. Richard was looking better than he had in months -- the spring was back in his step, the half-mad gleam of curiosity in his eye. Beth suspected that having success with just one project had been enough to make up for all his failures throughout the year. 

She came in just as the daily flock of owls fluttered away, leaving packages and mail behind them. Melissa was sitting there reading a crinkled brown letter. Beth slid in beside her. 

"What's that?" 

Melissa blushed. "It's from Andrei. _Gregorovich,_" she clarified, at Beth's blank look. She held up her wand. "I've finally got my proper wand back." 

"And he took three pages to explain that?" Beth said, eyeing the parchments in Melissa's hands. 

"Oh -- no, that's something else --" said Melissa. "When I sent back his wand, I mentioned something about how the breed of dragon affects a wand's properties -- he had something to say about that --" She waved the letter in the air. "Really, he knows his business well." 

"I hope it's better than his English," Beth teased. 

"His English is just fine," Melissa said shortly. "You're just jealous that you're not getting letters from a sexy Russian." 

Beth laughed out loud. She hadn't really felt like laughing for weeks; with the map of Azkaban, she felt like she was one step closer to saving her father and putting her life back to the way that it ought to be. 

Richard slid into the seat beside Beth and leaned close to her ear. "Hey Beth, want to go out tonight?" 

She looked at him in astonishment. "What?" 

"Bode and Croaker," he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Let's go summon them this evening. Herne knows a great hiding place outside of Hogsmeade, but we'll want to get back before the dementors start patrolling." 

"Oh -- all right," she whispered back. "When should we leave?" 

"Just after dinner," Richard replied. "Meet by the statue of the one-eyed hag as soon as you're done eating. Oh -- the newspaper owl missed you, so he left this with me." He handed her the Daily Prophet. "See you this evening!" 

***

The day couldn't go fast enough for Beth. She doodled through class and fidgeted through O.W.L.s practice. (Admittedly, she would have done so anyway; it was Binns, with his inexhaustible knowledge of goblin rebellions.) She picked at her dinner without paying attention to what was served. Afterward, she darted away to the meeting place at the mouth of the tunnel, behind the statue of the one-eyed hag. 

No one was there when she arrived. She poked around a few crevasses where they might be hiding and, finding no one, leaned against the wall to wait. 

Muffled whispers reached her ears. 

"Ow -- not that way --" 

"-- too darn tall --" 

"Not my fault you're a shrimpy little devil --" 

She glanced around ... and jumped. Two pairs of shoes, completely without any sort of bodies attached, were staggering down the hall toward her, stumbling and treading on one another with every few steps. 

Beth stared at the advancing footwear, unsure whether to run, hide, or stay put and hope for the best. The whispers began again. 

"There, now she's seen us --" 

"-- told you it wouldn't work --" 

"Well if you weren't so bloody tall!" 

Finally Beth recognized the voices. "She's heard you, too," she said wryly, crossing her arms and looking up from the shoes, which had jerked to a halt a yard or so from her. 

Richard's head appeared in midair, suspended several feet from the larger pair of shoes. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "It was Herne's idea." 

He shrugged and the rest of him came into view, along with most of Herne and the silvery outline of the invisibility cloak. "It was _not_ my idea," Herne said emphatically, folding up the cloak. "Anyway he's the one who's too tall to use the thing." 

"I think you mean, you're the one who's too short," Richard countered good-naturedly. 

They looked very odd standing together; one tall and handsome, the other still short and fresh-faced with youth. _What a difference two years makes,_ Beth thought, and was surprised to recall what a small amount of time that was. "If you don't mind ..." she said meaningfully, nodding toward the statue of the one-eyed hag. 

Richard looked bashful again. "Yes, you're right." He took out his wand, tapped the hag's hump, and muttered, "_Dissendium._" The hump slid aside to reveal the secret passageway. They all crowded inside before the hump slid back into place, leaving them in the darkness. 

"Lumos." 

Herne lit his wand and gazed around at the damp earthen walls. For a secret passage, the floor looked surprisingly well-used, but the walls and ceiling were as if they had been just dug. Here and there was the bone of a small animal or a candy wrapper -- Beth remembered that it came out in Honeydukes, so this was a perfectly reasonable thing to find. More disconcerting were the many holes that lined the edge of the floor; snakes, rats, and heaven knew what else made their home here, and they were likely to not be as friendly as Mervin's pets. 

As they walked, Beth recalled certain places along the way. She had been in the tunnel before, when she and Richard had gone to London to tell Dumbledore about the firsties entering the forbidden corridor; now they took it at a much more leisurely pace. It was not an improvement. Beth kept envisioning worms and insects crawling around the ceiling, occasionally dropping down to fall on someone's hair or down the back of their shirts -- 

She gave a shudder and swore never to think about that kind of thing again, which meant that she thought about it the whole way. 

The tunnel came out in the basement of Hogsmeade. "Keep quiet," Herne whispered, "there's a living room down here." Carefully, he led them through the basement and out a window into a small alley. Once outside, they crept through narrow, empty streets until they were well past the Shrieking Shack. Herne took them along an unused dirt path that led to the mouth of a small, dark cave. It was as large as their common room, with a ceiling that even Richard and Beth did not have to stoop under. A stalactite dripped farther back; other than that, they were completely alone. 

The cave was desolate and damp. Herne kicked together some pieces of wood that were scattered along the ground and lit a fire. Richard took out the paper that Professor Viridian had given them. He twisted it in his hands a bit before taking a breath. 

"Well -- here goes." 

He tore off a bit of paper and threw it into the fire. Immediately, the flames licked at the edges and devoured it until there was nothing left but a smudge of gray on top of one log. 

There was silence. 

Beth looked at the pile of ashes. "What ... what now?" 

Without warning, a breeze blew into the cave and whipped at the fire. The pile of ashes that had once been the piece of paper rose and dispersed in it, growing into a whirling dust devil that broke off into two small tornadoes. The ash tore around in a circle faster and faster -- something formed within each of the whirlwinds -- 

The wind died down. Where each tornado had been stood a man dressed all in black, from the scuffed shoes to the ribbed turtlenecks to the cap on each head. 

One of them looked around cheerfully. "Blimey, Bole, I believe we're in a cave!" 

"Right murky one too, if you ask me," said the other, running a finger along the dank wall. "Moss an' things, very third-world." He looked up and saw Richard as if for the first time. "An' I say! There's younguns 'ere!" 

Richard stepped forward. "We are the student chapter of the --" he began formally, but Bode leapt forward and grabbed his hand. 

"How d'ye do, Bode an' Croaker," he announced, grinning broadly. He had an extremely strong London accent. To Beth he sounded a lot like Dick van Dyke, in his rather caricatured role in _Mary Poppins_. 

The other man jumped in and jostled the first one away. "Croaker an' Bode," he corrected, grabbing Richard's hand and pumping away. "At your very-esteemed service, guv." 

"Callin' 'im 'guv', what are you, a bleedin' Cockney?" Bode snorted. 

Croaker snorted in reply. "Hoity-toity now, ain't we, purveyor o' the King's English now, eh?" He gestured to Richard. "Anyhow, 'Ee's the president of the Society, doncha know." 

Richard looked delighted. "That's right, how'd you know?" 

Bode laid a finger to his nose. "Saw ye at Baltus Gatherum's funeral. Bit of an awkward toast you made there, wot? Not many of us raise our gin to the Dark Lord. There's a few, mind," he added hastily, "but they rather lay low, see?" 

"I see," said Richard darkly. 

Beth stepped up. "We need your help to break into Azkaban," she said bluntly. 

To her great irritation, Croaker laughed. "Crikey, miss, it's not many a young lady wot wants to get _into_ Azkaban." 

"Well, there's one," Beth said crossly. "We need to get in and get some stuff out. We were told that you could help, but if you're just going to joke around --" 

Bode put a hand over his heart mournfully. "Croaker -- we've just been chastised --" 

Croaker followed suit. "Alas, if only mum had chastised us a bit more, we'd not be facin' the scorn of this foine girl." 

"You're brothers?" asked Herne curiously. 

"No." Bode turned back to Beth and bowed low at the waist. "Gloria serpens, miss, we'll do all we can." 

"Good." Beth nodded curtly, to the great amusement of the two Unspeakables. "We have a map, but Professor Viridian thought you could --" 

"_Vinnie!_" Croaker burst in cheerfully. "It's been ages since we've seen him, ain't it, Bode? He'll be an expat, I always used t' say -- didn't I -- and didn't he go an' take up at Durmstrang, just like I thought!" 

"Good on you," Bode agreed. "I always knew you had th' Soight, remember that time in Divination --" 

"Professor Viridian thought you could give us some tips," Beth broke in loudly. "How to get there, what to do about the dementors ..." 

"Lemon drops," said Bode thoughtfully. 

Croaker nodded. "I could stand a lemon drop or two -- haven't got one on you, eh?" he asked Herne, who shook his head. 

"_Would you pay attention!_" Beth said hotly. "We're going to do this whether you help or not, but it would be a lot easier if you'd just give us a hand here!" 

Bode looked hurt. "I say, we _were_ helping you," he insisted, making puppy-dog eyes. 

"Very true, that," Croaker agreed. "Got to take lemon drops. Suck on 'em, see, and the dementors can't harm you as much -- hard to forget that there's good in the world, with a lemon drop in yer gob," he added sagely. 

"Oh." Beth blushed. "Well -- _that's_ useful, I guess." 

"Bloody right," said Bode cheerfully. 

"Sure you haven't got a lemon drop?" Croaker prodded. 

"No, we haven't, but we'll get some next chance we get," snapped Beth. "If this goes off I'll buy you _barrels_ of lemon drops." 

"Oh, bully!" exclaimed Bode. "Let's get down to it, then. Let's see, you've got the map off of Vinnie I expect." Beth handed over the map and Bode looked it over with an expert eye. "Hmm, more dementors than usual -- 'spect they're a bit edgy, wot, after losing Black?" 

Croaker leaned over his shoulder. "Must be a grand of 'em," he observed. "Nasty brutes -- clever too. I'd say a distraction was in order, wouldn't you, Bode?" 

"Mm, yes, noice big one if y'ask me. Burn down a bit of the place, p'raps ..." 

"It's made of stone," said Beth flatly. 

Bode beamed at Croaker. "Sharp as a tack, this 'un! I mean to say, p'raps you could start a fire insoide one o' the rooms, draw away the dementors. Light one in this stairwell, see -- keep 'em out o' the upstairs." He tapped the staircase that led up to the Death Eater floor. 

"How do we get to the island?" asked Beth. "The ferryman only works on order by the Ministry." 

"Done 'er research, too," said Croaker, nudging Bode in the ribs. "Lessee. There's two ways, ain't there -- sea and air. Either way, I'd say you'll want some concealing spell -- invisibility's all right, but you'll want summat else too -- they can sense y' coming, rather'n see you. Need to make your emotions undetectable." His Cockney accent twisted the word "undetectable" into an amusing facsimile. 

"What kind of thing can do that?" asked Herne. 

Bode scrunched up his face and thought about it. "Graphorn hide's good to keep off spells," he said thoughtfully. "So's Erumpet skin." 

For one of the first times in memory, Richard looked uncertain. "It'll be a job getting four or five Erumpet cloaks," he said, brow furrowed. 

Croaker looked startled. "Four or five? 'Ow many of you d'you want to sneak in?" 

"One's fine," Beth began, but Richard broke in: 

"It's got to be at least three. We're sticking together on this," he added, meeting Beth's eyes. She looked away. 

Bode stroked his chin. "Bit of a different story then, wot?" he said thoughtfully. "I mean, blimey, it's one thing to get a loner inside, but a whole flock of you ..." He snapped his fingers. "I say, Croaker, could we obtain an Amulet of Eclipse, d'you think?" 

"May'aps," Croaker agreed. "Have to go through Grubbs, but she'll give us a loan ..." 

"What will that do?" asked Beth suspiciously. She was still not convinced that any pair of clowning Cockneys from a clandestine department of the Ministry could be much use on such an important mission -- a _vital_ mission, she thought firmly. 

Bode considered a moment before answering. "We've all got five senses, see -- you can hear summat, or taste it, things like that. There's other senses too, that some has ... Seers got their inner eye, dunno what that is, but they all talk about it ... dementors got their own sense, too, they sort of ... well, pick up your emotions -- like a radio picks up the Wizarding Wireless Network," he added. "The Eclipse Amulet sort of ..." 

"Obfuscates," said Croaker helpfully. 

"Yeah, it obfuscates -- _what?_" 

"Conceals, like." 

"Right, that's it. Conceals your emotions. Blocks 'em from bein' sensed, see? Like invisibility does to other folks' sight." 

"We still need more than one," Beth pointed out. 

Croaker broke into a grin. "Ceteris paribus, m'dear." He held up his hand with the S.S.A. ring on it and wiggled his fingers around. "Just one'll do you fine." 

Satisfied, Beth nodded thoughtfully. "So we can avoid being seen by the dementors and we can hold off their effect on us. One more thing: how do we get there?" 

"Told you -- sky or sea," said Bode. "It's no great shakes to me. There's no guards between Azkaban an' dry land -- they never had to worry 'bout breakouts, an' you'd be a fool to want to go there. No 'ffense, miss," he added hastily, at Beth's scowl. "Just sayin' that it's a godforsaken place, that's all." 

"Fool or not, I'm going," snapped Beth, grabbing back the map of Azkaban and rolling it up. 

"_We're_ going," Richard amended. "Thank you for all your help. Is there anything we can do for you?" 

Croaker thought for a moment. "Where are we?" 

"Just outside of Hogsmeade Village," said Herne. 

"Excellent!" said Bode brightly. He looked over at Croaker. "Let's go into the, what is it then, the Three Broomsticks? We'll let'cha buy us drinks," he added gracefully to Herne. 

"We can't, we're out here illegally and can't be seen," said Beth shortly. 

"Aha." Bode laid a finger to his nose. "Don't worry, mum, you'll be with us. No one'll rat on you." 

"What's that got to do with it?" said Beth crossly, but somehow, she found herself with Richard, Herne, and the two Unspeakables in one corner of the nearly-empty Three Broomsticks. 

Madame Rosmerta came around with three butterbeers and two pints of her famous mulled mead. "Smashing!" cried Bode, grabbing the mead and passing one to Croaker. "Thanks, Rosie, you're a doll." She rolled her eyes at him, but smiled and dodged his hand as he tried to pinch her in a private locale. "Charmin' lass," he said fondly, as she returned behind the counter. 

"Where d'you know her from?" asked Herne. 

Bode thought about it. "Never met 'er." He took a long draught of mead. "Um, splendid. What d'you say, Croaker?" 

"I say I wish we got summoned to Hogsmeade more often," said Croaker, his nose deep in his pint. "Can't exactly say where we do get summoned, mind, but I can't imagine it's got mead this good." 

Richard was interested. "What do you do, in the Department of Mysteries?" 

"Can't remember," said Bode brightly. "You, Croaker?" 

"Not a moment of it," agreed Croaker. "Can't actually remember wot the office looks like, either. Gray and boxy, do you think?" 

"Some-ought like that," Bode said thoughtfully. "Windows, I suppose." 

"Maybe not, though." 

"_Honestly,_ are you two always _kidding?_" said Beth in exasperation. 

Bode looked up at her, and there was something new in his eyes: mournful, a little lost. "We ain't kidding, miss," he said. "Part of the job, you know. They send us out an' bring us back, wipe our minds, so's we can't tell wot we've been up to. That's why you've got to have a partner -- reminds you why you wake up to a day you won't remember." 

Beth looked at Croaker, who nodded absently, and shuddered. 

"But -- it's worth it, isn't it?" Richard asked anxiously, leaning forward. "You get to learn all sorts of secrets, take part in the most classified dealings --" 

Croaker shrugged. "Yeah, it's interestin', far as I can recollect. We remember some stuff, see ... like who we meet, and all. Like Grubbs. She's in the Department for the Regulation an' Control of Magical Creatures, she's a good old bird. Member, too," he added to Richard, again wiggling the fingers to show off the S.S.A ring. "First lass in the club, actually. She knew old Tommie back afore he went an' changed his name." 

"Tommie -- _oh_," said Herne, turning red. "If she knew him at school, then -- why didn't she join ... You-Know-Who ... later on?" 

Bode looked outraged, but Croaker roared with laughter. 

"Not all of Riddle's school friends went an' turned Dark," Bode began crossly, but Croaker broke in: 

"She told me she might've but she couldn't keep from thinking of him as a twitchy little first-year!" he said gleefully. "Ol' Grubbs used to pick on him like nobody's business!" 

Bode gaped at him. "Really?" 

"Straight from the old biddy's mouth!" said Croaker. 

"I'll be darned," said Bode. He took a contemplative drink of mead. "I always reckoned Riddle for the aggressive sort." 

"Well, you know Grubbs," Croaker shrugged. 

Summoning the two Unspeakables, it turned out, had been easy -- it was a job getting them to leave. They joshed and told stories, flirted with Madame Rosmerta until she was quite flustered, and in short had such a good time that Richard finally had to put his foot down and order them away. 

"I'm sorry about all this!" he bellowed to Madam Rosmerta, trying to shove the jovial pair out the door. 

She looked after him quizzically. "For what?" 

"For the -- and -- never mind," he finished, dislodging Croaker's fingers from the doorframe with one final shove. 

It was almost nightfall; the dementors would be out patrolling very soon. Richard tried to hurry them along as they trudged back to the cave. 

"We could've stayed longer," Herne said, trotting beside Bode. He had really begun to idolize the pair. "Madam Rosmerta was hardly even mad." 

"Give 'er a few minutes, and she won't be angry at all," said Croaker, hands in his pockets. 

"Right, she's forgiven us already, I'd reckon," Bode chimed in. 

"You'd be so lucky," Richard murmured, looking over his shoulder to be sure no dementors were nearby. 

"Take it easy, old sport!" said Croaker heartily, clapping a hand to Richard's shoulder. "She'll have forgotten us all by now. Why, I'll bet she's back there, wonderin' where all her mead got to." 

Richard looked up at him skeptically, but then understanding dawned in his eyes. "The Department of Mysteries." 

"Righto, chap," said Bode, and hiccupped. "Easier to be Unspeakables if we're Unrememberables, eh?" He and Croaker laughed on each others' shoulders. 

"Thanks again," said Beth firmly, shoving them into the cave. "We'll call you if we need you." 

"Oh mercy, we've been dismissed --" began Bode, but Croaker broke in: 

"Enough of that, it's been a long day, I'm beat." 

"Umm, yes. What did we do all day again?" 

"Blamed if I know. Let's ask Grubbs." 

"Yes, she'll have noticed ..." 

As they spoke, their voices grew fainter and fainter until Beth couldn't make out what they were saying. Then their forms began to dissolve as well, becoming ghostlike, then transparent. Still chatting gaily, Bode and Croaker slipped away to reappear somewhere so secret that even they would never fully know it. 


	21. The Dementors' Fortress

**Chapter Twenty-One: The Dementors' Fortress**

As it was so late when they got home from meeting with Bode and Croaker, Beth had to wait until the next morning to describe to Melissa everything that had happened. She was by parts amused by the irrepressible pair and impressed by their advice. 

"They sound like they really know what they're talking about," she said, as they strolled back from dinner to the common room. "Knowing about the lemon drops and the amulet, and all -- I'll bet there are people at the Ministry who don't know that." 

"That's impossible ... do you think so?" Beth asked dubiously. 

Melissa shrugged. "Why would they ever loan out that amulet, if they knew what it could do?" 

"Good point." 

They caught up with Bruce outside of the common room, where he had been having a chat with a portrait of a young monk. Melissa asked what he had been talking about. 

"Just checking to see if Sirius Black's been around. No one's seen him for months -- the pictures, I mean," he added, indicating the portrait. "I think it'll be safe to sneak out to you-know-where, without worrying about running into him in Hogsmeade or anything." 

The door opened as they spoke and Marcus emerged, looking smug and victorious. He was carrying an official-looking document. The self-satisfied look on Marcus's face faded as he caught sight of Bruce. He elbowed his way past without a word. 

Melissa shrugged and they continued into the common room. Mervin was sitting by himself at one of the far tables. His face was peaked and pale. They quickly joined him and asked what was wrong. 

"It's Marcus," said Mervin bitterly. "He's told his father about how Gina bit him in the arm, and he pulled a Draco and he's trying to -- to get Gina away from me." 

"To lock her up?" asked Melissa anxiously. 

Mervin stared at her with hollow eyes. "To kill her." 

There was a clamor of righteous indignation. "They can't do that!" cried Beth. "She's like -- one of us!" 

"Practically human!" Bruce agreed. 

Mervin put his head in his arms. "I don't know what to do. Marcus says that if she's not gone by tonight he'll bring in the Ministry." 

"What can the Ministry do?" scoffed Melissa. 

Beth immediately thought of her father. "Quite a lot," she said softly, and Mervin let out a muffled moan. 

"Let's ask Rich for help at the meeting tonight," Melissa suggested, in a soothing voice. "He'll come up with something. He always does." 

Mervin's eyes brimmed with hope. 

***

Richard was indignant. 

"Ridiculous -- his fault anyway --" he sputtered, pacing the Vase Room angrily. "He should know better." He drew a deep breath. "I suppose I can't blame him. His ambitions have been destroyed. That's like death to a Slytherin." 

"What about Gina?" Mervin insisted fearfully, his snake sleeping in long shiny coils by his feet. 

"Don't worry," Richard reassured him. "We'll hide Gina in the Vase Room if it comes to that. Besides -- I need her for the last part of the plan. Rat too," he added. 

Rat poked his head from Mervin's pocket as if he had actually heard and understood his own name. Gina, too, raised her head. The human members of the S.S.A. were just as attentive. 

"Last part?" said Blaise keenly. "You mean -- breaking in?" 

"No, he means the celebratory tea party," said Evan coolly. Blaise gave him a dirty look. 

"The trip to Azkaban," said Richard, with a half-glance at Evan, "is going be the most difficult thing the Society has ever done. We can only bring along so many of you -- any more than five will make it that much easier to get caught. I'll be going. So will Beth. Uther and Bruce -- you're our best flyers and our two biggest members. I want you there in case something goes wrong. Mervin has to come along to control Gina and Rat. That's all. We can't risk more." 

"I want to come too." 

All heads swiveled to where Melissa had spoken up. 

"You can't. Six is too many," said Richard shortly. 

"_I'm coming too,_" growled Melissa, eyes flashing, and behind those eyes were two and a half millennia of Ollivanders who had been idolized, or persecuted, or loved or hated, but never, never overlooked. Richard saw the fervor in her gaze and caved. 

"All right. You too. But that's all." 

Everyone but the Azkaban expedition was dismissed. They huddled in toward the middle of the Vase Room, suddenly sobered as they realized how big -- and how dangerous -- their mission really was. 

"We're waiting on an Amulet that will hide us from the dementors," Richard said, more quietly now that the room was emptier. "We can nick a bag of lemon drops from Honeyduke's, that's right where the tunnel comes out anyway. What we really need is transportation. We can go by air or sea, they said, but I think air would be better ... we'll need to grab the school brooms, maybe take along an extra in case one breaks down ... what's so funny?" 

Bruce and Uther were nudging each other and snickering. "Yes, Rich, let's use the school brooms," said Uther innocently. "I love the way they lurch -- I'd _much_ rather have those than any _good_ brooms --" 

"Right, who needs quality?" chimed in Bruce. "Anyway I'd rather try to steal them from the broom shed than use the ones _right in our common room_ ..." 

Richard's irritated look was replaced with joyous understanding. "The Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones!" he said. "Good thinking, I'd forgotten we had access to those! That'll cut our travel time in half, I'll bet!" 

Mervin spoke up. "You still haven't told me what you need Gina and Rat for," he said shortly. 

"We won't be able to squeeze in through the windows ourselves," said Richard reasonably. "They can fetch the letters for us." 

"You want to send my pets _into_ Azkaban?" Mervin repeated, eyes suddenly huge. He clutched Gina closer. Rat squealed in fear and dove into the depths of Mervin's front pocket. "Nuh-uh. Get your own snake." 

Richard quickly realized his mistake. "Any old snake won't do," he said hastily. "Gina's brilliant, we need her. Plus," he added, eyes lighting up, "they're both plenty brave. Probably braver than all of us. Remember when they attacked Marcus just for shoving you --" 

"Yeah," said Mervin, his eyes misting over. "And Marcus is pretty scary, too." 

There was a multitude of confirmations that no dementor could _possibly_ be as daunting as Marcus Flint. 

"They'll go down in the history of the S.S.A," Melissa said. "The first two animal members. We'll get a plaque made in their honor." 

"With -- with their pictures on it?" said Mervin dreamily. 

"And their names in italics," promised Uther, with an ironic grin at Bruce. 

Mervin's face snapped up resolutely. He picked up Rat and held him nose-to-nose. "Guess what, guys!" he said enthusiastically. "You're going on a _mission!_" 

Gina buried her head in his shirt. 

***

Beth woke up feeling hopeful. Now they had a plan -- a good, solid plan that would get them into Azkaban and back out. Things might work out after all. 

Mervin came down to breakfast late. He looked pale and angry as he plunked down with the other fifth-years, Rat in his pocket and Gina coiled around his shoulders. 

"Marcus," he spat, before anyone could ask. "His dad's called the Ministry. They're coming up to get her on the last day of term." He quivered in fear and anger. "He's just -- scared to be around her, that's what. Yeah." 

Beth took a close look at Gina for the first time in months. To her surprise, she realized that Marcus was right on one point: Gina was huge. Beth had taken her growth for granted, but now that she thought about it carefully, it seemed incredible that Gina had gone from being the size of a pencil to roughly eleven feet long, all within nine months' time. She was now thicker than Bruce's forearm and her multicolored scales had settled into a diamond pattern. 

"She really is too large to keep," she said softly. 

Mervin's eyes filled with fear. "Not you too!" 

"Is she still satisfied with eating mice?" 

Mervin chewed on his lower lip, considered lying, and decided not to. "She gave up on that," he admitted. "I let her outside to hunt because she kept trying to eat Mrs. Norris. Now she gets ... hedgehogs and things. But she always comes back inside," he added anxiously. 

Any further discussion was broken off by the arrival of another set of mail owls. A large package landed on Beth's lap. Farther down the table, a palm-sized packet plopped into a fruit dish near Richard, who looked absolutely ecstatic. He looked down the table at Beth and motioned for her to open the box. 

Curiously, Beth tore open the package. Inside was a large square tin which, upon opening, proved to be full of lemon drops. A slip of paper at the top read: 

_Thanks for the mead. Best luck, Bode and Croaker._

The names had been crossed out and replaced with the words "Croaker and Bode". 

Richard came down and sat beside her with his own package. Inside was a gold chain adorned with a gaudily large oval stone that shone dark blue as if illuminated from within. 

"Our chatty friends sent it," he told her, beaming, "courtesy of this 'Grubbs' person." 

Beth couldn't see anything special or even magical about the amulet. "Are you sure it'll work?" she asked dubiously. 

"Course it'll work. It's from the Ministry." Richard sounded so confident and collected that Beth felt her spirits rise just from listening to him. He lowered his voice. "How's Saturday night for you? We can leave around ten, be back by morning, and have a lie-in the next day." 

"Tonight would be better," she said quickly, thinking of Justice Matheson's scowling face, but Richard shook his head. 

"You need a good night's sleep until then. We all do," he added hastily. "It'll be a long night." 

Beth wasn't sure she would be able to sleep a wink until then. 

***

All Saturday, Beth waited for more information about the Azkaban trip that night. Every time she saw Richard she would watch him anxiously, to see if he had anything to tell her, but every time he left without saying anything. 

She had almost given up hope when, as she worked listlessly on her Alchemy by the fire after dinner, he came up and plopped down beside her. 

"It's so boring to study in the common room," he sighed, giving her a quirk of a smile. "What d'you say we go to the library instead?" 

She looked at him in frank annoyance. "I can think of somewhere I'd rather be going tonight," she said pointedly, in a brittle sort of voice. 

He patted her shoulder. "All in good time. Come on -- Pince has promised to let us stay late." 

When they got there, Beth saw that Bruce, Mervin, Melissa, and Uther were already gathered at one table, with scarcely a book between them. "Studying hard, are we?" inquired Rich wryly, as they joined them. 

"As hard as ever, old boy," grinned Uther, hands behind his head. 

Madame Pince came around at nine o'clock ordering the other students to leave. Beth noticed that she had arranged to reach their table last. When she got around to the Slytherins, she said quietly, "One hour extra, Mr. Shaw. And you'd better all have something to do in case a professor comes by. I daresay they'd be suspicious just from seeing Mr. Montague in here without a Quaffle." 

Uther looked hurt. 

It was a hard wait. Beth was too distracted to get much Alchemy done; fortunately, she had the antics of Rat and Gina to keep her entertained. Despite their early roles as predator and prey, they seemed to have become extremely close friends. 

Finally, Richard figured that it was late enough and ordered them to pack up their things. They scrambled to put away their largely neglected textbooks and followed him out of the library, which by now was dark and deathly silent. Madame Pince nodded at them as they left. 

"Thanks for letting us stay late to study," said Richard casually, dropping her a wink. 

"Anything in the name of academics, Mr. Shaw," said Madame Pince severely. She lowered her voice. "Good luck. Gloria serpens." 

"Of course," Richard grinned. 

No sooner were they out into the hall than Richard pulled them up short. "Vase Room," he muttered under his breath, and one by one they crept downstairs to where they had carefully planted their equipment the night before. 

Uther and Bruce had commandeered the invisibility cloak to help them get six of the Nimbuses out of the common room. Each of them had brought their winter cloak the night before. "We're going north, and the air over the sea is going to be chilly," Richard had reasoned. Richard held a rucksack containing the map, amulet and lemon drops; Mervin wore one for Gina to ride in. As they dressed and gathered their things together, Beth couldn't help but think that it felt like they were suiting up for war. 

Sneaking out of the dormitories at ten o'clock is pointless; all the good stuff happens closer to midnight. For that very reason, the halls were silent and Filch-free as the S.S.A. slunk to the statue of the hag which stood guard over the secret passage to Hogsmeade. Richard opened the passage with a whispered word and a tap of his wand, and they crammed into the passageway before the statue slid shut behind them. 

Bruce was all for riding their brooms through the tunnel, but Mervin flatly refused. 

"I'm not zooming through this tiny little space at a hundred miles an hour," he said, arms crossed. "Besides, I'm not leaving Gina, and she's afraid of heights." Beth wondered how he knew. 

"Walking all that way -- she's going to have to fly anyhow --" Bruce argued helplessly, but nonetheless they ended up trudging through the corridor, clutching their Nimbus 2001's and trying not to trip over the skeletons of small mammals. 

It wasn't long before they all stumbled out into the basement of Honeydukes. Richard made everyone stand still and listen for activity, but the owners seemed to have gone to bed. He passed out bags of lemon drops and shooed Uther away from the big vats of chocolate. Then he said, "Okay. Everybody hold hands." 

The boys stood around and looked at each other. 

"I mean it!" said Richard sharply. 

Mervin edged away from Uther. 

"For crying out ... do I have to actually force your hands together? It's for the spell, it'll just take a minute!" 

Very gingerly, they linked hands, Richard holding the amulet. "Ceteris paribus," he said, and Beth felt a thrill like electric shock run from one hand to the other. Richard recited an incantation swiftly and then nodded at the others. They broke apart very quickly, wiping their palms on their pants as if they had been handling mud. 

The rings glowed red for a moment and subsided. 

"That's it?" asked Melissa. Gina wound around Mervin's feet dubiously. 

Beth looked around at them all; no one seemed any different. "It didn't work," she said, despair settling onto her shoulders. 

"Of course it did," said Richard briskly. He held up the amulet; instead of dark blue, it now glowed a milky teal. He slipped it around his neck and tucked it into his shirt. "You just can't sense emotions normally, so you'd never notice. Ready to go test it?" 

He looked around at the group, each gripping their broomsticks tightly. There was a very tense silence. 

Uther stepped up. "What are we waiting for, chaps?" he boomed, grinning broadly. "Let's get flying!" 

Nearly everyone laughed. The dark mood broken, they crept up the wooden staircase and into the main floor of Honeyduke's. In the moonlight that flooded through the broad glass windows, Beth could make out the old and peeling sign: 

            **---------------BY ORDER OF---------------**   
            ** THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC**   
            _Customers are reminded that until further notice,   
            dementors will be patrolling the streets of Hogsmeade   
            every night until sundown. This measure has been   
            in place for the safety of Hogsmeade residents   
            be lifted upon the recapture of Sirius Bla   
            therefore advisable that you complete   
            well before nightfall.   
                Merry Chri
_

Richard peered out the window. "There they are," he muttered. "Let's go out back, into the alley. There must be a dozen of them patrolling the main street." 

Mervin unlocked the back door with a charm and they slipped out into the back alley. Buildings rose oppressively on either side, but the sky was clear above them, and the stars glimmered brightly. Beth located the Orion constellation without really thinking about it. One by one, they launched into the sky above Hogsmeade; then, following Bruce's lead, they set off for the North. 

Truth be told, Beth had spent very little time on a broomstick after her initial first-year flying lessons. Occasionally in the summertime she would ride one out to the Scamanders' house, or take a trip to the sea just for something to do, but in general her experience was limited. Even without Bruce's expansive knowledge of brooms, however, she could appreciate the quality of the Nimbus 2001's. The breakneck speed was hardly noticeable unless she watched the scenery whiz by; when she wanted to change course, it responded instantly. 

"Spectacular, aren't they?" Bruce called, somewhere over Liverpool. 

Gina apparently didn't think so; she had buried her head in Mervin's shirt and wouldn't look up. (Mervin was a bit green himself.) Rat, on the other hand, had his head out of Mervin's pocket and looked like he was having the time of his life. 

The ride was so smooth and the scenery so lovely in the moonlight that the trip barely seemed an hour. In truth, they rode for two hours without stopping: north, over the dark and churning sea, whizzing over the cold whitecaps like a flock of seabirds. 

The moon was cold against a cloudless sky, and the waves below caught its light and tossed it from side to side like children at play. Beth thought she saw a whale, long and lonesome, rise up for air and sink back below the impenetrable surface. Aside from this, there was nothing for miles but the black open sea. 

"I see it!" yelled Uther, from the front of the pack. "Lemon drops in, chaps!" 

Beth fumbled in her pocket and popped a lemon drop in her mouth. She craned her neck to see around the others ... 

... and there it was. 

The fortress loomed dank and cheerless over the smooth black waters. Beth felt like she was flying up to a cliff. A blur of white broke the clouds above her and Beth looked up, startled: it was a broad white bird, its wingspan as wide as a human, circling and cawing near the high walls of the stone tower. _I've seen that before,_ Beth thought vaguely. _Albatross._ Of course: it was the same sort of bird that had delivered a birthday message from her mother, a full two years ago. In the Great Hall of Hogwarts, it had been powerful, overbearing ... now, it was a cool slash of white against the stark walls and crashing waves. A few barred windows pocked the sheer fortress, but no faces or hands could be seen behind them. _This is a dead place,_ Beth thought absurdly. 

Richard swooped over beside her, the map in one hand. "Round the other side," he called to her, his voice slightly muffled by the lemon drop in his mouth. He veered away and Beth followed as he circled the building. 

Each side was as barren as the next. There was no light behind the windows, no movement. Beth shuddered as a familiar chill swept over her; there were dementors nearby. She glanced at Richard and saw that his amulet had begun to glow. 

Richard was pale; his mouth was firmly set. Beth guessed that he, too, was feeling the proximity of the dementors, despite the lemon drops; she wondered for a moment what he was forced to relive when they were able to work their dark powers over him. "Get in here," he called, waving his arm in the air, and the six of them huddled together, hovering over the black sea. 

"Bruce and Uther, I want one of you on each end of the building," he said, raising his voice to be heard over the wind that screamed recklessly against the fortress. "We'll be getting the job done." Melissa, too, looked pale. 

As one, Bruce and Uther nodded and zoomed in opposite directions, to flank the building as silent guards. 

Beth glanced over her shoulder at the foreboding stones and narrow, barred windows. "Which ones?" she asked over the howling wind. 

Instead of replying, Richard pointed his wand toward the fortress. On the very top floor, a gleam of light glanced from window to window and settled finally on one narrow opening, then the one beside it, then the next. Beth's heart lurched into her throat. Her family lived there ... what would she find behind the bars? 

Richard had put away his wand and was motioning to them. Slowly, he flew up to the side of the prison until he was almost pressed against the stone beneath the three windows that represented the Parson cells. Beth, Melissa and Mervin followed, hovering uncertainly, their cloaks ripping in the wind. 

Leaning forward, Richard drew as close to the others as he could. "Beth, you've got to go first," he said, in a soft voice edged with something like pity. "Tell them what we're doing. Otherwise ... they'd suddenly see us at the window, and a snake in their ... rooms ..." his voice trailed off. 

Beth swallowed hard and nodded. Very slowly, she rose to the level of the first window and peeked inside. 

The cell was barren, barely more than a cot and a barred door. Someone lay on the cot, staring at the ceiling, and Beth gazed at it with half fear and half longing. Was she looking at her mother, for the first time in twelve years? Or one of her brothers, who had last known her as a baby? 

The figure twisted in the cot and a sharp profile came into view: a beaky nose and ragged graying hair, all surrounding the jutting Parson chin. Beth felt her breath come out in a shaky sigh. It was Lycaeon. She was glad that he was first: He knew her, he was a Society member, he would understand. 

She pulled close to the bars of the window. 

"Luke!" 

The figure rolled over wearily and put his pillow over his head. 

"Lycaeon!" she hissed again. She hardly dared to speak louder. "Get up, Luke! It's Beth!" 

Lycaeon let out a moan and raised his head, still clenching the pillow around his ears. "Don't you ever go away?" he whispered, plainly to no one but himself. 

"_Luke, this is Beth and I'm at your window and I need you to help me save Dad!_" she snarled fiercely, pressing her face against the bars of the window. 

Lycaeon took the pillow from his head and looked around in tired disbelief. In the moonlight Beth saw that his eyes were more hollow than they had been at the trial, his cheeks gaunter and more haggard. But then his eyes fell on her face, luminous as the moon, and his mouth dropped open in a boyish display of disbelief. "Beth --? Is it really you?" He came towards the window slowly, unwilling to hope. 

A lump rose in Beth's throat and she forced it down. "It's me," she whispered, her voice shaking. "I -- I've come to take all of those messages that Dad sent you. Mom's and Chris's too. It's the only way to keep him out of Azkaban." 

Lycaeon faltered. "Take -- take my letters?" He cast a terrified glance at one corner and twisted the edge of his tattered shirt in two pale hands. "But they're mine --" 

Cold despair fell on Beth. "We need to take them," she repeated. "Otherwise the Ministry will find them, and then Dad will go to prison too --" 

Breath coming raggedly now, Lycaeon crossed his cell in two long strides and fell on his knees in front of the window where Beth hovered. "But they're all that's kept me sane!" he said hoarsely. 

Beth took a long breath. Her whole body shook. "I -- I know -- but please, can't you give them up for Dad -- he needs us, Luke, you don't want him to end up in here like ... like the rest of you ..." Unbidden, tears welled and rolled down her cheeks. "Luke, if they lock him up then I'll be left all alone ..." 

Lycaeon stared up at her face. Then, slowly, he lifted one wasted hand and tremulously wiped the tears from her cheek. 

"You won't get me out of here?" he asked softly. 

Beth shook her head, biting her lip against the tears that even now broke forth. 

Her brother gave a low sigh like wind in a barren forest. "All right then. Take them. But --" He looked up at her with the hope of the damned. "When it's all right again ... you'll write me more -- won't you?" 

"Of course," Beth stammered through her tears, and reached through the bars to take her brother's hand. 

Lycaeon held her hand awkwardly, then gripped it tightly. "Don't forget," he said fervently. Then he looked down at her hand and his face took on a new look. "The Society. You're a Slytherin then." His face twisted into a rusty, lopsided smile. 

"Yeah," said Beth, wiping her face with the back of her other wrist. "That's how we got here. The Society's helping." 

There was a rustling from below and suddenly a tangle of red hair appeared at the windowsill, followed by Mervin's anxious face. "Can they go in yet?" he hissed to Beth. He caught sight of Lycaeon. "Oh, er ... hello." 

"He's a member," said Beth hastily, because Lycaeon looked so startled to see him. "Mervin, this is my brother Luke. He's going to get us the letters." She met Lycaeon's gaze, who nodded slowly and let go of her hand before going to one corner of his cell. On his knees, he pried a brick from the very edge of the wall and drew out a handful of tiny scraps of paper. He reached in again and pulled out another handful, and another, until they filled his arms. Beth and Mervin watched as he ran his fingers through them and read one or two of them. Then, with a great sigh, he stood up and brought the load to the window. Mervin held out his empty backpack. Lycaeon hesitated, then thrust his hands between the bars and dropped all of the messages into the backpack. 

"There!" he gasped, as if putting down a heavy burden. He grasped Beth's wrists again like a drowning man. "Don't forget, you promised to write me more!" 

"As many as I can," said Beth softly. She dug in her pocket suddenly and wordlessly forced her packet of lemon drops into Lycaeon's hands. 

Richard hovered into view on Beth's other side. "There's two more," he said gently. 

Beth nodded shortly, still taking in her brother's long face and harried eyes. She wanted to say that she'd see him soon. She wanted to say that everything was going to be all right ... But all she said was, "Thank you," and drew away before she gave her brother any more hope than he could handle. 

They sank below the windows again. "Well done," said Melissa appreciatively, looking down into the backpack, now full of scrap messages. 

Richard was regarding Beth closely. "Are you all right?" 

Determination fell over her face. "Fine," she said shortly, and swooped away to the next window. 

She had barely reached it when there was a piercing whistle from the left. All of them swiveled to see Uther gesturing frantically toward the ocean. They looked down. The bare rim of shore surrounding the fortress seemed to be moving ... with a jolt of horror Beth realized that at least half a dozen dementors had come out and were peering about the night sky as if they could barely see something in the darkness. She let out a quick whimper of fright. 

The members hovered silently, barely daring to breathe. For at least five minutes, the dementors swarmed around, staring upward like children at a fireworks festival. But despite all their foreboding demeanor and the threatening way they walked, their hooded faces always turned away again from the members even when they seemed to be staring straight at them ... 

"They can't quite pin us," said Richard quietly. "The Amulet must be spread thin or they wouldn't be able to sense us at all. Quickly now -- let's get the other two!" 

Resolutely, but still casting glances at the dementors that glided about below, Beth rose to the next window and peered inside. 

This person lacked either the strength or the mind to find their cot; it was curled in a fetal position on the floor, whimpering, cheek rubbing the cold ground. Beth caught her breath as the figure rocked back and forth insensibly. In the moonlight the face flashed into sight, and she saw her father huddled on the floor -- but it wasn't her father, it must be Chris, the image of his father despite their difference in years. She whispered his name, then louder, more insistent, but it was no use. Chris was beyond hearing. 

"Mervin!" she hissed, and the red-haired boy bobbed up beside her. "Tell Gina to look around in there for letters. Chris can't help us." She zoomed away to the next window and left Mervin alone with her insane older brother. 

Seeing her brothers like this had left her shaken. She hazarded a glance downward; sure enough, the dementors still glided around, like blind hunters. Beth gripped her broomstick more firmly and hovered still for a few moments, gathering her nerve. Then she rose to the third window. 

This was the one that she had longed for and dreaded the most. Behind these bars, her mother had lived for twelve years ... becoming what? 

She forced herself to look inside the cell. "Mom?" she whispered, dry-mouthed. "It's me. It's Beth." 

Between the shadows Beth could make out the outline of her mother, resplendent with long, curly hair down her back, hunched over on the edge of her cot, staring down at her hands between her knees. She slowly raised her face to the sound at the window and Beth caught a glance of Lycaeon's beaky nose, Chris's dark eyes. 

"Mom," she said again, and the word was strange on her tongue. "It's Beth." 

"Beth?" Phaedra Parson's voice was slow and thick, confused from years of darkness and despair. 

"Your -- your daughter." Beth swallowed hard. 

"Beth ..." Her mother rose from the cot like a queen, stretched like a cat, glided like a ghost to the window. "Beth ...?" 

"I need to take back the letters from Dad," Beth began in a rush, afraid that she would lose her ability to speak, relieved that her mother was not the senseless creature that Chris had become. "They found out about them and he's in trouble with the Ministry ..." 

"Beth ..." Mrs. Parson had reached the barred window now and gazed into her daughter's face. 

"Yes," said Beth, unrest growing uncomfortably within her. "We need to ... take back those messages from Dad ..." 

Without warning, Phaedra Parson opened her pretty mouth and let out a godforsaken shriek. She thrust her hands between the bars and grabbed onto Beth's wrists with a mad ferocity. Terrified, Beth tried to pull away -- the broomstick bucked beneath her -- and she fell from her perch and dangled from the fourth floor of the dementor's fortress, supported only by her mother's clawing fingers. 

The screaming rang in Beth's ears as she scrabbled for a foothold on the smooth stones. She felt dizzy and crystal-clear all at once. She sounds like the banshee, Beth thought, with unfeeling horror. A banshee that is singing for my death. She grasped for her mothers' wrists, the bars, the windowsill, anything to hold onto ... below were the waves and the dark sands, and death ... 

"Mom --" she gasped, barely able to speak as she swung from her wrists, still fighting for a grip on anything, anywhere. "Pull me up --" 

Mrs. Parson gazed down at her daughter staring fearfully back at her. She stopped screaming and closed her mouth. Beth thought that she heard the ringing scream still sound in the back of her mind, in the air, all around ... 

"Beth." 

Her mother opened her withered hands and Beth fell through space. 

An eternity later, Beth landed on her side in a mass of wet sand, the wind knocked completely out of her. She struggled for long, painful moments before she could gasp in a deep breath of air. It rushed in, cool and welcome -- 

And the last of the lemon drop slid down her throat. 

There was the whooshing sound of a sigh and Beth felt clouds of darkness fall over her. There was a mist around her -- she couldn't see, but there were tall figures surrounding her, sniffing her out, on all sides -- 

_-- and she was in her mother's arms by a green fire, a large green bonfire, and there was great pain and many people, and the flames flickered and Beth was afraid, too afraid to cry, and there was a scream from somewhere far away --_

The scream was real. Beth looked up through the fog and saw black creatures like birds swirl above her, circling above the tall figures in the mist around her, and she heard: 

"_Expecto patronum!_" 

There was a blinding burst of gold. Through the fog and the despair Beth saw a golden phoenix, brilliant and beautiful, swoop down from the sky and circle her. All the mist fled from her mind in one startling moment of clarity. She crouched on the dark, damp beach of Azkaban, and there were dementors around her, tall and horrible ... but as she watched, the golden phoenix soared towards the nearest dementor and passed through his dark body. 

The dementor shuddered like a dying man. There was a noise like the groan of a rusty door. The dementor thrust out his arms blindly and Beth had a glance of wasted, scabrous hands before they started to shake ... and they began to dissolve. 

The dementor's cloak fell to the ground, empty but for a pile of sick-smelling ashes. 

The golden phoenix was whirling with action, piercing the heart of a second and third dementor. It attacked the last dementor on the beach and glided up, up into the starry sky, and gave a cry so beautiful that Beth wanted to shout -- then it vanished in a glitter of gold. 

She stared at the place where the phoenix had been, speechless with wonder, heedless of the dementors that groaned and died around her. 

There was a noise behind her and she whirled around suddenly. There was Bruce, gripping his broom with white knuckles and a look of panic on his face. "My _God,_ Beth," he groaned, "I thought you were dead --" 

Uther landed beside him, straddling one broomstick and holding another. He thrust the extra at Beth. "Can you fly?" he asked quickly. She nodded dumbly. "Then get on -- there's more of them!" 

Without speaking, Beth got on her broomstick and kicked off. As soon as she was in the air, she was swarmed by the other members, demanding to know if she was all right. 

"Oh Beth," cried Melissa, flinging her arms around her friend, "I saw you fall and I -- I couldn't believe ..." 

Richard was pale and shaking. He couldn't take his eyes away from Beth. "I can't believe I put you in that kind of danger," he said hoarsely. 

"Did you see what Mel did!" Mervin interrupted, breaking into the circle with Gina around his neck and a big smile on his face. "That was excellent!" 

Uther flew up to them from where he had been scouting. "We'll talk later!" he roared. "They know we're here! Let's get moving before they can find us!" 

"But -- the rest of the messages --" Beth protested, looking up at the windows so far above. 

"Rat and Gina got them while you were playing with the dementors," said Mervin, and he kissed Gina on the nose. Rat poked his head out of Mervin's front pocket and gave a little squeak of triumph before going back to gnawing on the scrap of paper between his paws. 

"Hurry!" ordered Uther, and one by one they soared into the sky and headed south. 

***

Beth hardly noticed the trip back. Her mind was full of things she had seen and heard, and the hopes that she dared not hold onto. Was it possible that it was all over ... was the danger really past? Had they really succeeded? 

It seemed like a moment later when Uther called, "We're landing," and they began to come down from the sky. Beth looked around and was startled to see that they weren't in Hogsmeade; rather, Uther had chosen to bring them down in the Hogwarts grounds, just at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. She watched as Richard peered around on the ground before finally taking out his wand and muttering, "_Lettus intothat madhaus._" A square patch of sod rose from the earth and moved aside, revealing a ladder and tunnel into the ground, and Beth recognized the secret passage to the common room. 

They crept through the dirt tunnel, clutching their broomsticks tightly, and climbed through an enchanted patch in the stone floor of the Slytherin common room. Beth had never been so relieved to see her dormitories. She took a deep breath and yawned, then turned to Melissa. 

"How'd you do that trick with the dementors?" 

It was the first words that she had spoken since they left Azkaban. 

Melissa broke into a tentative smile. "Professor Lupin's been teaching me to fight boggarts, you know, and I found out he was teaching Potter to fight dementors, so I made him teach me that too." 

"I thought you couldn't kill dementors," said Bruce, flopping into an armchair in exhaustion. 

"You can't," said Melissa. Then she drew a wand from her pocket and twirled it in her fingers. "Unless you have a new kind of magic." 

Beth looked at the wand, and then let out a gasp. "The basilisk wand! I should have known!" She threw her arms around her friend. "You saved my life!" 

"Very literally," said Richard. He stood apart from the group with his lips pressed together. "Beth, I ... can't tell you how sorry I am --" 

"It's all right," said Beth quietly, and they both smiled. 

Mervin had taken his backpack to the fireplace and was hauling out handfuls of messages. "Don't mind if I burn these, do you, Beth?" he said cheerfully. 

"_Burn them,_" she said fervently. 

Uther yawned hugely and raised his arms over his head. "I'm off to bed," he said casually, as if they had been up to no more than a late-night chat over tea. "See you at noon." He started off to the boys' dorms. 

There was the creak of a latch and the door to the common room swung open. 

Everyone froze. 

The door closed and Herne Rudisille appeared, fully dressed. "Oh, hello," he said mildly. "Did it go well?" 

Richard stared at him in unguarded surprise. "Well enough," he said, though his voice was a bit strangled. "What have you been up to?" 

By way of reply, he came up to Beth and held out his hand. A tiny slip of paper lay in his open palm. 

"I was just putting the invisibility cloak back in tunnel, where Blaise and Morag found it," he said, somewhat shyly. "I borrowed it this evening to go out to Justice Matheson's and pick up that other message from Beth's father that he had. This is it, isn't it, Beth?" 

And it was. 

"Herne!" gasped Beth. "I could kiss you!" 

Herne flushed scarlet. "Oh -- nothing really -- I figured, if we were going to leave the invisibility cloak just laying there, shouldn't we do something with it before we lose it?" 

Beth hurled her arms around him and hugged him as hard as she could. Herne went completely red and the tiny message fluttered from his hands. Gina slithered over and swallowed it whole. 


	22. The Ordinary Wizarding Levels

**Chapter Twenty-Two: The Ordinary Wizarding Levels**

The sunny days of May were surprisingly good ones. Classes all but ceased as teachers struggled to prepare them for the O.W.L.s. With the bright blue skies, it seemed as though Sirius Black was gone for good. And finally, the day came when Beth got a letter from her father that read: 

_The case against me has been excused. They found no evidence within Azkaban and Justice Matheson seems to have lost the one message in his possession._

Beth let out a whoop of sheer joy right there at the breakfast table. Draco Malfoy cast her a curious glance and then looked away, disinterested. 

Melissa looked over at her hopefully. "Is it --?" 

Beth nodded vigorously, and she could see the S.S.A. turn to look at her and, one by one, begin to smile. 

It was like being reborn. Suddenly Beth could appreciate the sun again; she could see the lush grass that had sprung while she was lost in despair. It was as if she could relax again. She told Melissa so. 

Melissa looked at her with unguarded horror. "Relax? Are you crazy?" 

Beth didn't say anything. 

"We still have to take the O.W.L.s!" 

"Oh, _drat,_" said Beth fervently, and they hurried off to the library. 

***

The day came. Beth awoke, fluttering with nerves, and immediately remembered why: Ordinary Wizarding Levels, or in other words the key to their futures. The bathroom was chaotic as she, Melissa, and Antigone ran around trying to look their best, as if it would help their scores. In fact it just made them more nervous. By breakfast Beth's hair was as frazzled as her nerves. 

Warrington gulped down fried eggs as if it were his last meal. Mervin couldn't eat a bite; instead he fed his whole meal to Gina and Rat, who went into ecstasies over the ham omelets. Beth agreed with Mervin on this point; she forced down some toast, reasoning that it was harder to think on an empty stomach, but the food sat heavily in the bottom of her stomach and made her wish she hadn't eaten anything at all. 

All too soon, their heads of house came around to usher them away to the testing room. Professor Snape left them at the door without a word, although the corner of his mouth twitched in a way that might have been an encouraging smile, if Professor Snape ever did that sort of thing. 

"Remember to check on any creature's age," McGonagall called hastily to her students, on her way out. Checking to be sure they had their wands and quills, they filed inside and found seats. 

The classroom had been magically expanded to fit the approximately forty fifth-years. Six columns of desks were widely spaced, each with a sealed scroll on top. At the front of the room was a long table with a row of stern-looking witches and wizards seated facing the desks. "It's like having class with eight teachers," Aaron said unfunnily as the Slytherins all hurried to get seats together. 

Beth looked down at the scroll in front of her. It was dauntingly thick, with a red wax seal on the front bearing the insignia of the Ministry of Magic. She suddenly wondered if Richard had remembered to send the Amulet of Eclipse back to Grubbs. The Ministry would surely miss it. 

Mervin had Gina coiled under his chair and Rat in his pocket. He took out the rat and let him scamper around the desk. Rat sniffed at the scroll and sneezed derisively, then scurried back up to Mervin and nudged his hand encouragingly. Mervin smiled wanly. 

"Hey!" 

A sharp and startled voice burst through Beth's thoughts and she looked up. 

"Doesn't that look like --" 

"It does! Look at the front paw --" 

The Weasley twins, mouths agape, stared at the rat on Mervin's desk, each other, and then up at Mervin. 

"You're a bloody _thief!_" one of them gasped out, too astonished to articulate any real venom. 

"And you're a raving moron," Mervin snapped back. "What do you want?" 

One of the Weasleys was glaring at him, but the other stared fixedly at Rat, who had stopped prancing and gazed up at them, whiskers twitching in horror. "You stole our brother's rat, you dirty -- _Slytherin_ --" 

"I found him and he's mine," Mervin said, his voice shaking, but Rat shook himself once, leapt off of the desk and bolted. 

Mervin and both Weasleys launched from their seats, scrambling madly to catch the rodent. Rat darted across the floor, eyes rolling in terror. There were shrieks as girls stood on their desks to get away from him; Diggory tried to catch him with a Full-Body Bind but missed and hit Lee Jordan, who teetered in his chair before landing with a thunk on the floor. Rat skittered around his frozen head, darted under a pair of desks, and whisked out the door. 

By this time the test proctors were standing up from their seats, thoroughly scandalized. A woman with her hair in a bun got hold of herself and sputtered, "In your seats! If you please! This is most improper!" 

"But my rat --" Mervin protested over his shoulder, still making for the door. 

"_Ron's_ rat," one of the Weasleys snarled, grabbing at the back of Mervin's cloak. 

Mervin turned on the pair of them with a wild, hurt fury. "He's nobody else's but mine," he roared, face going red as his hair. Before anyone could stop him, he whipped out his wand and bellowed, "_Anamorphosis anserine!_" 

The twins had time for one startled look at each other before their heads began to stretch. 

Very gracefully, their necks elongated, stretching up and up until their heads bobbed like balloons three feet in the air. Their freckled faces twisted and shrunk into small spheres. There was a squealing sound like rubber and a goose's bill sprouted on each of their faces. 

One looked at the other and let out a loud honk, looking surprised at the sound he made. Beth supposed that it could have been either a laugh or a cry of outrage. Mervin watched his handiwork with a sadistic pleasure for only a moment before an extremely large proctor bore down on him and physically replaced him in his seat. Another proctor swooped down on the Weasley twins, who were fooling around with their new look to its greatest advantage, and repaired them with a number of countercurses, while a third thawed Lee Jordan. 

"There will be no more interruptions!" the witch at the front of the room ordered shrilly, as the other two proctors returned to their seats. "All my years -- never seen --" 

The large proctor that had hijacked Mervin nudged her elbow. "There was that time with the two black-haired boys, you remember, and that little greasy-haired kid with the big nose -- over twenty years ago, wasn't it, Susan?" He grinned and his whole huge face lit up. "_That_ was worth seeing." 

The witch turned up her nose at him. "Yes, well, may that be the last time we deal with something so unseemly," she said shortly. "Everyone will please take out their quills and wands. Do not break the seal until you are instructed to do so." 

Beth hazarded a glance at Mervin. He was bent over whispering to Gina, who nudged his leg affectionately before slithering out the door. He looked up and caught Beth's eye. "She'll find him," he whispered confidently, although his eyes spoke otherwise. 

"Complete the form on the front of your scroll," the witch went on. There was a long bout of silence as they filled in the questionnaire. Beth was done quickly and had to sit around and wait until Warrington laboriously finished writing in his information. Finally, the witch looked around at them meaningfully and said, in a loud and judicious voice, 

"You may now break the seal. You have four hours. You may begin." 

We've all taken standardized tests before. This was a lot like those, except some of the questions had moving illustrations and instead of geometry and English, the questions dealt with wandwork and incantations. Beth was astounded to remember details about the goblin rebellions that she had purposely tried not to hear; apparently Binns had actually gotten through to her after all. 

It seemed like no time at all before the witch at the front of the room told them that they had twenty minutes remaining. Beth had time to go over most of her unanswered questions before the witch announced, "Please put down your quills. There will be no more time allotted. _Put down your quills,_" she repeated, glaring at Warrington who was scrambling to fill in the rest of his test with whatever came to mind. In the end the large proctor had to pry his fingers from the quill while the witch snatched away his scroll, muttering "There's always one," over the Weasleys' snickers (and occasional accidental honking). 

Lunch came as a welcome relief. Beth felt her appetite return and she ate heartily, as she and her classmates chatted about questions they were sure they had missed and what was likely to show up on the practical half that afternoon. Actually taking the test had done wonders for Beth's nerves, and it seemed that the rest of them agreed; banter was easier than it had been at breakfast, and instead of dreading the remainder of the O.W.L.s Beth found herself hoping that they would go quickly. 

"My bloody Quick-Quotes Quill kept writing jokes in the middle of my essays," Aaron said, not sounding especially perturbed. "Had to go back and scratch them all out." 

"That's what you get," said Melissa primly. 

Most of them were almost done eating by the time that Mervin came and joined them. "Gina can't find Rat," he reported, in a low, worried voice. 

"He'll be around," said Aaron in a confident tone. "Rat's bright, you know." 

"Right, the Weasleys are enough to make anyone hide," Melissa said. 

Mervin sighed deeply. "You're right." He picked up a fork, poked uninterestedly at his potato salad, and put it back down again without eating anything. "Come on, time for practicals," he said, and they headed off. 

For the afternoons' practical examinations, the students were divided into groups which would rotate between classrooms until they had completed all of the stations. Beth had Transfiguration first. They lined up in the hallway and one by one entered the classroom to face whatever may lay before them. 

Beth's turn came up far more quickly than she wanted. After the Hufflepuff in line before her emerged (looking pale), she gripped her wand and stepped inside. 

A witch even older than McGonagall sat behind the desk at the front of the room, filling out forms. A carrot lay on the desk in front of her. Beth sat down in a seat facing the desk. The elderly witch looked over her spectacles at Beth, who swallowed hard and smiled weakly. The witch pursed her lips; Beth couldn't tell whether it was an expression of disapproval or a very out-of-practice smile. 

"You will please turn this carrot into a bumbershoot," said the witch. "Lavender, if you please." 

Beth let out her breath slowly. Nonsentient transfiguration. Piece of cake. Very carefully, she lifted her wand and enunciated, "_Parasola karatine._" 

The carrot elongated, developed flaps, and gradually changed color. The witch lifted the umbrella from the table and examined it closely. "Eight ribs," she noted, opening and shutting the umbrella to be sure that it worked properly. She set it aside and Beth breathed a sigh of relief. It had been acceptable. She stood up to leave. 

"Miss Parson, if you please!" 

She sat back down hastily. "Yes?" 

"You have only completed one half of the examination." She lifted a cage from beneath the desk. It contained an agitated sea otter that was banging its rudderlike tail against the cage, whiskers drooping from the heat. 

"Oh," said Beth, and immediately wondered if she would lose a point for saying something that stupid. She tried to regain herself. "What do I have to turn it into?" 

The witch glared down her nose. "You must _transfigure_ this otter into a falcon." 

Beth's heart sank. Animal to animal -- that was difficult, and it wasn't one of her strong points to begin with. Mind racing, she rallied herself. "All right." She remembered McGonagall's advice. "What ... what age is it?" 

The elderly witch looked taken aback. "I haven't the slightest. You students have been asking me that all morning, and I simply don't care. Has someone put you up to this? Is it one of those horrible red-haired boys? One of them asked me if they were allowed to transfigure me instead. Can you imagine." 

"Erm," said Beth, who could _certainly_ imagine but didn't want to have to listen to the witch's tirade for any longer. 

"Intolerable children," the witch added to herself, smoothing her skirt around her knees. She looked sharply up at Beth. "Very well. Go on." 

Beth looked down at the otter, which glared back and bared its teeth at her. 

_Okay. No problem,_ thought Beth frantically. _Otters are mammals. Rodents. Got to make it a falcon. That's a bird. If I can just make it be a bird I'll do well enough to pass. Make sure it's a bird of prey -- talons -- beak for tearing --_ Panic raised up and clutched her throat. _You really don't know how to do this, Parson. Oh well ..._

Hand quivering, she raised her wand. "_Mustelid raptorous._" 

Silvery sparks encased the otter, settling on its fur. It let out an enraged shriek as its bones started to twist and change, becoming hollow, as its fur was replaced with feathers and its toenails grew to gruesome deadly length ... 

"Gracious me," the elderly witch breathed, "what _have_ you made?" 

Beth stared at the creature in the cage with a mixture of shock and horror. Neither fur nor feather covered the beast, but a feathery sort of hair, very fine and bristly. The flat tail had grown longer and thinner but was completely featherless. A beak had indeed sprouted, but it was surrounded by whiskers; and the talons were razor-sharp, but looked rather silly coming out of padded paws. 

"I have no idea." 

"That is obvious," said the elderly witch briskly. She lifted the cage with the startled creature and put it under her desk. "Don't worry, I'll grade this quickly so that the poor thing can be put out of its misery." 

A dark kind of despair crept up on Beth. "Is that all?" she asked timidly. 

"Yes." The witch was now very busy writing on a long scroll. "Do send in the next student on your way out." 

"Okay." Beth left in a hurry. 

The other students were still lined up outside of the classroom, whispering anxiously with one another. "How was it?" rumbled Warrington, eyes wide as saucers. 

Beth shook her head numbly. Warrington scowled, but in a worried kind of way. 

Very luckily, Potions was the next practical station. Beth breezed through the recipe and was even able to make the required modifications within the allotted time. With that behind her, Charms was manageable if not easy, and before she knew it, the O.W.L.s were over and she was meeting up with her friends at dinner. 

They sat and ate silently for a while, not wanting to think about anything. Finally Aaron spoke up. 

"Well?" 

Several underclassmen were deafened in the clamor. 

"That otter! I actually made it look like a falcon --" 

"I didn't see anything in the tea leaves, so I made it all up, think they could tell?" 

"The guy running the potions was a _bear,_ wasn't he? Professor Snape looks like a kitten compared to him!" 

"You're kidding, you put Uric the Oddball? I thought it was Elfrida Clagg --" 

And by the time they were finished rehashing the day with each other, Beth was ready to put the whole business behind her. She even felt cheerful about it. There's nothing to be done about it now, she thought mildly, and was surprised to find that she didn't care. She only hoped that the otter-falcon, wherever it was, wasn't suffering too much. 


	23. Boggart and Banshee

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Boggart and Banshee**

Rat never returned to the Slytherin common room. Mervin waited up for him by the fire several nights in a row, only to be shaken awake the following morning. He would have been more upset about the loss of his rat if not for one thing: his snake was taking it far worse than he. 

Gina, deprived of her pet and companion, took to slinking around the corners of the dormitories, poking into mouse holes. She grew restless and irritable, often hissing at students for as little as crossing her path. Even as exams drew to a close and the summer loomed before them, her mood did not improve. 

Compared to the O.W.L.s, final exams were a breeze. Beth went through them feeling better about her grades than she ever had. By lunchtime that Thursday, the fifth-years were giddy with anticipated freedom. They had only one exam left: Defense Against the Dark Arts. 

"There's going to be a boggart," Mervin said worriedly. 

"You've been to Azkaban and back," Melissa reminded him. "What could be more frightening than that?" 

"Another sea serpent," said Mervin miserably. "I can't believe Lupin's putting us through that again. How'd he like it if we went around telling everybody about his 'condition' -- not much, I'll bet -- oh no -- _Gina, get back here!_" 

Gina was at the Ravenclaw table with a terrified first-year enveloped in her long coils. The Slytherins, of course, found this highly amusing; unfortunately, the Ravenclaws did not. 

"Mr. Fletcher, that creature is uncontrollable!" Professor Flitwick squeaked angrily at Mervin, as the two tried to pry the snake off of the gasping first-year. 

"She's ... just ... playing," grunted Mervin, between tugs at Gina's coils. "Come on, girl, I'll ... I'll get you a steak from the kitchens ..." Gina hissed angrily at him and let the Ravenclaw go before slithering out of the Great Hall, cold and regal. 

Mervin came back to the table looking pale and defeated. "She was just playing," he repeated hollowly, and stared down at his food without appetite. Marcus Flint looked up from his enormous plate of fried eggs long enough to shoot him a smug look. 

"Hogsmeade tomorrow," Aaron broke in brightly, just to keep Mervin from looking so sad. 

"Right," said Mervin, with a deep breath. "I've got to stock up on Cockroach Clusters. My cousins are coming to visit for two weeks this summer, and I need to be prepared." 

A low chime sounded and groans echoed around the Great Hall. "Just one more," said Melissa bracingly, giving Warrington a pat on the back. (These days, she couldn't quite reach his shoulder.) Warrington clenched his fists nervously and grunted. 

Their D.A.D.A. final, like the O.W.L.s, was split between a written test and a practical. Lupin had arranged a sort of obstacle course for his third-years that morning (rumor was that Longbottom had to be carried out on a stretcher) and he utilized some of it for the fifth-years as well. 

"You'll be taking turns throughout the written exam," Lupin explained, as he handed out papers. "One after another, alphabetically: Bletchley, Fletcher, Ollivander, Parson, Pucey, von Dervish, and Warrington. There is, as promised, a boggart near the end. His defeat is worth five percent of your final grade, but I beg you not to destroy him; I need to test all of you, and I only have one." Tests distributed, he strode to the front of the room. "All right, you may begin. Bruce, follow me outside if you please." 

Somewhat mutinously, Bruce obeyed. 

The test was not difficult. Even Antigone seemed to be having a good time of it, although she did make liberal use of Lupin's absence by cheating quite blatantly from Aaron's paper. Bruce returned soon and motioned to Mervin, who swallowed, gathered up Gina, and left. 

"Is it hard?" Beth whispered, as Bruce sat down beside her. 

"No," he said, flipping through the written test. "Is this?" 

Beth shook her head. 

It wasn't long before Beth's turn came up to face the obstacle course. She made it past the Dark creatures fairly easily, and was able to deflect Lupin's curses, which he cast in a suspiciously calm voice, with no great difficulty. She moved forward and found a great trunk, rattling beneath its lock. As the boggart inside sensed her nearness it grew still. She didn't know what it would become. She had feared a great many things that year, but she had faced them all, and once seen a fear loses the largest part of its power. She had faced them all except -- 

A low shriek wound from the trunk and Beth knew what she had not yet conquered. 

The lid of the trunk sprang open and the banshee rose from it, white hair whipping around her greenish face, wild mourning cries streaming from her wide lips, a tattered white gown nipping at her bare feet. Beth looked down at those bare feet and a cry tore from her own mouth; for behind the banshee's feet lay the form of her father, eyes wide and glazed, hands stiff as claws. 

She staggered and the banshee knew it had chosen well. It raised its wasted hands in mourning for the dead Parsimmer. 

All at once Beth felt her horror shift and change inside of her. The thought of her father's death was overshadowed by a hot rush of good American anger. How dare the boggart conjure such a vision and then mourn its death? Who was it to poke around inside her head, drawing out terrors that had been locked as deep as they could go? 

"_We got all the letters, you moron!_" Beth screeched, her face growing hot as fire. She drew her wand like a sword. "_Ridikulus! Ridikulus! It's not going to be him!_" 

The banshee burst into flames and vanished, and the image of Mr. Parson went with her. 

There was silence. Then Professor Lupin spoke up from the corner. 

"Well done. Nine out of ten." 

She turned on him, still panting from exertion and fury. "Why nine?" 

"I did ask that you not blow my boggart to smithereens," said Lupin calmly. "Your classmates will not be able to complete their practical. Tell them I'll factor it out of their final grade, will you please, when you send in Mr. Pucey?" 

"Okay," said Beth, looking at the scorch mark on the ground in front of the trunk. "They'll be relieved." 

That was, of course, an understatement. 

***

The afternoon was glorious and green. Without finals, O.W.L.s, Quidditch, or life-threatening S.S.A. missions to worry about anymore, it seemed like they were already on summer vacation. Beth and Melissa tried to hunt down people to play cards with on the grounds, but the only ones they could find were Aaron and Antigone. Aaron was a good player but got entirely too competitive, to the point where he would shout, "Look, there goes Professor Lockhart!" and then steal a look at Antigone's cards while she had her head turned. 

"You are so immature," she snarled, after falling for it the fourth time. 

"But I'm winning," Aaron pointed out, with a big grin. 

Everyone had to admit that was what counted. 

"Ooh, look over there," said Melissa suddenly, craning her neck over her cards. (Aaron snuck a peek at her hand.) 

Beth twisted around. Far across the grounds, Marcus and Bruce stood facing each other at the side of the lake. "Oh no," Beth said, her heart sinking. "Not again." 

"Going to be a fight?" said Antigone keenly. 

But it was not to be. As they watched, the two boys shook hands before strolling away together to where the rest of the Quidditch team were playing a hearty game of shuntbumps, made more violent by the second-rate school broomsticks. Below them, Mervin Fletcher emerged from the Forbidden Forest, walked under the game without an upward glance, and approached his classmates. He looked pale and his eyes were red-rimmed. 

"You look like death warmed over," commented Aaron, shuffling furiously despite his stiff right arm. 

"Eat pus and die," said Mervin listlessly. He plopped down in the circle and put his head in his hands. "I just let Gina go." 

The deck of cards flew out of Aaron's hands. Antigone looked up sharply, halfway through plaiting her hair. 

Beth stared at Mervin, speechless. The question "Why?" was on the very tip of her tongue, but she silenced herself at the very last second. She knew perfectly well why Mervin had been forced to release his pet. A twelve-foot snake that hunts wild game and attacks first-years couldn't be kept by even the most devoted of caretakers, and now that Marcus's father had summoned the Ministry, there were even greater forces to reckon with. Besides -- Gina hadn't been the same for the past few weeks. She had been unhappy cooped up in the castle, Beth realized, and suddenly knew that Mervin had realized it too. 

"I'm sorry," she said softly. 

Mervin nodded morosely. "She'll be happier." He drew a long breath and then looked around at them for the first time. "Come on then, deal me in." 

Aaron, grinning broadly, was only too happy to oblige. 

They played cards until dinnertime. Bruce and Warrington eventually came over to join them, bruised and sweaty from shuntbumps, at which point Antigone excused herself on the grounds that she thought she would choke on their stench. 

"Great, _now_ who am I going to fleece?" said Aaron, deftly shuffling her cards back into the deck. 

"Fleece Warrington," Antigone said over her shoulder, and strode away, hips swinging and long hair trailing behind her like a veil. Warrington watched her dumbly and didn't notice when Aaron dealt his hand face-up. 

"You're too good for her," Bruce assured him, patting him on the back, while Beth flipped his cards back over and glared at Aaron. 

Warrington shook his head. "Nobody's too good for her," he mumbled, and flushed a brilliant pink. 

Beth and Melissa exchanged looks. "So, Bruce, it looks like you and Marcus made up," Melissa said, half to draw attention away from Warrington and half out of genuine curiosity. 

It was Bruce's turn to blush. "Yeah ... my cousin Belluah, you know, she's on with the Pride of Portree, she managed to get him a try-out with them over the summer." He shrugged. "He'll never play for Puddlemere, but maybe he'll end up somewhere else. He really is a good Chaser. I just hope he doesn't assassinate anyone trying out against him." 

Everyone laughed, although no one thought Bruce was kidding. 

Dinner was excellent; the house-elves, realizing they had only one more chance to make an impression that year, came up with a mouthwatering array of bakes, casseroles and fresh summer produce. Full of good food and surrounded by friends, Beth felt completely happy. Even the thought of her brother's postponed parole hearing, just a month away, couldn't rest heavily in her mind. She had been through entirely too much that year to worry about something she couldn't change. 

Richard slid up to them halfway through dessert and helped himself to a slice of cheesecake. "Don't mind if I grab this, do you? Uther's eaten it all at my end of the table." He lowered his voice and leaned toward Melissa. "Last meeting tonight, you know. Get there early to vote on the newbies." 

"What time?" Melissa murmured. 

"Try to make it at ten. It'll be a bit tricky, sneaking out that early, but maybe everyone'll be so giddy over the end of term that they won't notice." He moved down the table to the fourth-years, whispering in Herne's ear while snatching a brownie from Evan's plate. 

It was a long time before anyone left the Great Hall. Students sat around chatting, nibbling at dessert, and exchanging home addresses until nearly nine o'clock. By then, the Great Hall was beginning to darken as the enchanted ceiling reflected the warm summer sunset; slowly, the students began to disperse and wend their way to their common rooms, full, sleepy and content. 

The S.S.A. sat around together, waiting for everyone to disperse so that they could make their regular Thursday night excursion. "I'm glad I didn't have to stalk anyone this year," Beth yawned, looking out over the common room. "On top of everything, I don't think I could've taken it." 

"Really?" said Melissa, leaning her head on Bruce's shoulder. "I rather enjoy it. Get to know more of the student body." 

"You would," said Bruce fondly. 

"Who were you two trailing this year?" Beth asked. "I haven't even noticed you watching anyone." 

"Kid named Maximillian Smoot," said Bruce, settling further into his seat. "Big nose. Very shrewd but no brains, if you know what I mean. I don't know why I keep getting these goonish types." 

"They pair you up with people your resemble," said Melissa wickedly. Bruce wrinkled his nose at her. "I've got a girl called Audra Verona," she went on, "and she's a gorgeous little thing, but barely says a word." 

"See, they _don't_ pair you up with people you resemble," Bruce grinned, and it was Melissa's turn to make a face at him. 

"Yeah, I got a little freckle-faced weirdo," Mervin agreed, nodding sagely, and there was a pause before every one of them burst into laughter. 

Around ten o'clock, Richard began ushering them out in pairs. By then the younger student were abed and the older ones lay around in drowsy circles, not paying any attention to what was going on, so it made Mervin's offers of temporarily blinding the rest of the students unnecessary. 

"Besides," said Richard, holding the door open for Herne and Mervin, "we've made it this far without doing anything illegal." 

"No we haven't," said Melissa. 

"Still," said Richard cheerily. "No need to ruin our sparkling reputations." 

Beth and Bruce waited until everyone else had gone, then slipped out of the common room and began the trek upstairs to the Vase Room. The cold stone hallways seemed somehow warmer; maybe it was the hot June air coming through the windows, or just the anticipation of summer vacation to come. They turned a corner carefully. 

"Hold it," Bruce said suddenly. 

Light was streaming from an open door halfway down the hall. "We can make it," Beth said quietly. "Just walk fast and be quiet -- and if someone comes out, pretend to be sick so we have an excuse for being out." 

Bruce nodded silently and they hurried through the hall, tense and swift, not making a sound. They were approaching the doorway ... coming up ... almost past ... 

And about four pairs of hands reached out and pulled them inside the lighted room. 


	24. The Two Potters

**Chapter Twenty-Four: The Two Potters**

Beth was too surprised to scream, and it wouldn't have done much good anyway, because immediately a hand was clapped over her mouth and she found herself staring into Richard's eyes. "Don't make a noise," he said quickly, and let her go at once. She saw Bruce receiving the same treatment nearby, at the hands of Uther. 

"Uh --" 

"Just hush," said Richard. He put his hands to his temples and paced away. "I have to think." 

Bewildered, Beth looked around. The room was full of aquariums and textbooks, cages and curious-looking mechanisms. 

"It's Lupin's office," said Melissa swiftly, coming up beside Beth. "We found it like this. Look --" she pointed a shaking hand to the desk, where the rest of the S.S.A. was huddled around. Beth went over and joined them. 

The top of the desk was cluttered with quills and scraps of parchment, but the middle section was swept clear except for two objects. One was a slightly steaming goblet of some nasty-looking potion; Beth could make out the powerful scent of wolfsbane. The other was a flat piece of parchment, worn from use and time, with small black specks running here and there -- 

"The map of Azkaban?" Beth said without thinking, pushing the goblet aside and leaning to look closer. "How did it --?" 

But she was wrong. The map was clearly depicting someplace larger and of a more elaborate architecture; moreover, the black dots of ink all had tiny writing beside them. She could make out names ... 

"That's -- that's a map of Hogwarts!" Blaise breathed, leaning close. "Look, there's _us!_" 

Richard burst into their circle, gazing around at them with the eyes of a madman. "_This,_" he breathed, "is _it._" He jabbed a finger at one corner of the map. "Potter, Granger, and Weasley _outside of the school grounds_ -- with Snape -- and Lupin -- and _Sirius Black!_" 

"Who's Peter Pettigrew?" said Herne, craning his neck to see the tiny writing, but Richard snatched up the parchment in one hand and gestured to them with the other. 

"Follow me. We'll plan on the way!" 

***

They charged through the halls of Hogwarts, Richard in the lead. "Blaise, Herne and Morag, find Dumbledore," he barked over his shoulder. "There's a secret passage from the Whomping Willow to somewhere around Hogsmeade and Potter's somewhere in it. I just hope he's not dead by the time we get there," he said fervently. 

"Where should we look?" said Blaise, nearly running to keep up with him. 

Richard whipped open the map and took a glance over it. "His office," he said swiftly. Blaise nodded and she took off with Herne and Morag in tow. 

"What about the rest of us?" Bruce grunted, jogging alongside him. 

Richard didn't even turn his head to say, "Potter's in danger, and we're going to do anything it takes to keep him alive -- just like Dumbledore told us to." A grin stretched over his face. "And we'll finally be worth something." 

At that point he tripped and went sprawling. 

He scrambled to his feet, completely red, and cast about angrily. He got to his knees and reached out his hand to pluck a piece of twine that was stretched across the hallway. "Tripwire," he said in disgust. "Must be --" 

A grating voice cut in over his words, echoing through the empty halls. "Treason, rape, homicide, THERE ARE STUDENTS BREAKING CURFEW!" screamed Peeves, and vanished with a loud pop. 

All was deadly silent. Then came a faint shout from far away, the familiar clomping of heavy boots, and the cry of a cat. 

"Oh, _Filch,_" said Melissa in despair. "Come on -- this way --" 

She led them down a pair of staircases and into a dusty sitting room that looked as if it hadn't been used for decades. "Hide," she ordered, and the seven of them ducked behind covered armchairs or beneath antique desks. Uther slipped into a large wardrobe at one end of the room, and Mervin hid inside a smaller one beside it. 

Beth crouched still as stone, afraid to move, for nearly five minutes as Filch's footsteps got closer ... almost upon them ... and quieter as he passed. She let out a long breath and stood up. One by one the S.S.A. members reassembled in the middle of the room. 

Uther came out of the wardrobe, wrapped in a fur coat. "Very weird," he said, taking off the coat and shaking a fine powder from its shoulders. "It's snowing in there ... nearly ran into this lamppost ..." 

Mervin burst from the other closet, looking terribly excited. "Come and look at this!" 

Richard gave him an irritated look. "Not now, Mervin, we're trying to get out of the castle --" 

Mervin threw open the wardrobe door. "But we _are_ out of the castle!" Beth looked past him into the closet, but instead of seeing cloaks or hangers, she found herself staring onto the moonlit grounds of Hogwarts. 

"You're a ruddy genius!" said Richard breathlessly. 

Mervin toed the floor humbly. "Well, you know, I ..." 

"Come on!" 

One by one they poured through the wardrobe and out into the starry June dusk. 

They were on the side of the castle opposite the Entrance Hall, and the Forbidden Forest loomed barely a few yards away. Immediately, Richard hunkered down on the ground and spread out the map while the other members clustered around him. Evan lit his wand and held it near the parchment so that they could see. In the eerie blue glow, the map showed clearly every person in the vicinity of Hogwarts. 

"So _that's_ where the Ravenclaw common room is!" Uther said, leaning forward with interest. "Huh, clever of them ..." 

"_Will you pay attention!_" Richard hissed. He smoothed the parchment and bent close. "Look, there they all are. Looks like they're coming down this road here towards the Whomping Willow ... oh wait, that's a tunnel ..." 

"Oh no, Dumbledore's not in his office anymore!" said Melissa, pointing to where Blaise, Morag and Herne's dots milled around confusedly. 

"They're in the kitchen," Mervin said, his finger on another part of the map. "Him and Hagrid ... and Cornelius Fudge?!? ... And who's Grostberg and Macnair?" 

"Who cares?" said Richard impatiently, sweeping aside the many pointing hands. "The important thing's Potter and Black, and they're coming this way." 

"No they're not," said Evan coolly. He laid a finger at the printed edge of the forest. "Potter's here." 

Richard looked back and forth between the two dots labeled "Harry Potter". One was with Granger, Weasley, Snape, Lupin, Black, and someone named Peter Pettigrew in the tunnel, making swift headway toward the Whomping Willow. The other stood with a second "Hermione Granger" dot a bit inside the Forbidden Forest, facing the Entrance Hall. 

"Someone should tell Lupin his map's faulty," Uther said lightly. 

"Well -- which one's the real Potter?" said Mervin, looking up at Richard. 

Richard re-rolled the map and got to his feet. "We can't know. We have to be ready to meet them both." He looked around at the group as if sizing them up. "Uther, Mel, Mervin, and Evan, sneak around the front and wait for the group to come out of the willow. Bruce, Beth and I will stake out the ones in the forest. Whichever dot turns out to be wrong, that group will join the others." 

He hesitated for a minute. "I know Dumbledore didn't think we could take on Sirius Black," he said, voice suddenly soft. "But I do. Just -- be safe." 

There was a long pause. Then Richard nodded curtly and stuffed the map into his pocket. 

"See you back at the Vase Room," Uther whispered cockily, and led his group around one ivy-covered corner. 

Richard turned to Bruce and Beth. "Wands ready," he said grimly, and without another word they began to creep around the side of the castle. 

The grounds were soft and empty in the moonlight, still but for the gently whispering of the trees in the wind. The moon was bright and full. Its reflection quivered on the surface of the lake with a haunting beauty. Here and there a dark cloud sailed across the sky, hiding the moon, or suddenly veiling a patch of stars like a black cloak tossed into the air. 

They crept along the castle wall until the grounds spanned out in front of it; then, one by one, they slipped into the Forbidden Forest. Only a few yards in, the trees were not as thick, the underbrush less dense ... and the dangers, seemingly farther away. 

Suddenly Richard drew up short and threw out his hands. "Hush!" he hissed. Beth peered around him and caught a glance of feathers, the glimmer of moonlight on a vicious beak ... then the clouds shifted, and she could see clearly. 

Several hundred feet away, Potter and Granger sat together on the forest floor, gazing out of the woods onto the grounds. A large gray hippogriff was tied to a tree behind them, digging at the dirt with his beak like an enormous robin. Neither of the Gryffindors spoke; they didn't look like they were in danger, or even frightened ... in fact, it looked like they were waiting for something. At the sight of Potter, alive and with Sirius Black nowhere near, Richard visibly relaxed. 

Richard turned to the two of them and took out his wand. He flicked it at each of their feet in turn and muttered, "_Tacitus_." Then he slowly began to walk towards Potter and Granger, keeping out of sight, coming up behind them. Beth took a few hesitant steps and realized that the leaves no longer crunched under her feet -- Richard had somehow silenced her footsteps. She motioned to Bruce, and he followed, peering about for the slightest sign of danger. 

The cool clouds drew closed over the moon, and the shadows faded into true darkness. The Slytherins slipped closer to Potter, eyes wide, wands at the ready. Beth felt her hands begin to shake, despite the warm night. What were the Gryffindors doing out here, sitting by the edge of the forest? And if this was the real Potter, safe, what was going on near the Whomping Willow? 

She didn't have long to find out. They were hardly ten yards away when Granger stirred suddenly and whispered, "Here we come!" She and Potter stood up, blocking the view. Beth moved until she could see through the trees. They were staring at the Whomping Willow, where something was happening -- a hole was opening up at the base of the trunk -- and _Professor Lupin_ was emerging -- chained to a short, balding man -- and the youngest Weasley boy -- 

But none of that was as astounding as what came out of the tree next. 

_Hermione Granger._

Beth's mouth dropped open. She looked from one bushy-haired girl to the other, each wearing the same clothes, although with very different expressions on their faces. The Granger in the woods was tense and excited; the one coming out of the willow was grim, tired-looking and wary. 

She looked back at the willow quickly and was just in time to see Professor Snape bob like a rag doll from the hole, followed by another Harry Potter and a gaunt-faced, black-haired man that she had only seen in newspapers: Sirius Black, killer of a dozen Muggles and the only known Azkban escapee. 

Richard let out a sort of a choking sound. Beth looked back at him swiftly; he was looking from one group to the other, his eyes moving quickly as if he were rapidly calculating. Which Potter was real? Neither? Both? 

Granger and Potter -- the ones closest to them -- were conversing in quick whispers, Potter watching the sky. Beth kept her eyes on the little band that had come from the Whomping Willow. 

After that, things went very fast. 

The moon broke loose from the cover of clouds, shedding light over the Hogwarts grounds -- 

Professor Lupin stopped short and began to shiver violently -- 

"Hermione! We've got to move!" 

The kind face lengthened, the handsome frame twisted, grizzled gray hair raised along his back like hackles -- 

"Oh no," said Bruce softly, "the full moon --" 

"We mustn't, I keep telling you --" said Granger shrilly. 

A giant black dog appeared from nowhere and attacked the wolf that had once been Professor Lupin ... they battled with claws and teeth, fur flying ... 

A flash of light and the Weasley boy fell away, another and the small man vanished ... 

"That was his potion on the desk," Beth whispered, staring numbly at the werewolf as it broke away from the dog's jaws ... 

Potter, in a fierce whisper: "Not to interfere! Lupin's going to run into the forest, right at us!" 

The two Gryffindors by the willow bent over where Weasley had fallen; the Gryffindors in the forest untied the hippogriff, panicked, and took off towards Hagrid's cabin, the werewolf charging towards them. 

Beth stood transfixed as the werewolf bounded across the grounds, heading into almost a collision course with the two students, steadily gaining as they dashed toward Hagrid's cabin ... 

"_Meno mosso!_" Richard barked, voice barely audible over the wolf's long howl. A long fog seemed to stream from his wand, wind along the grounds like a Puffskein's tongue, and twist around the werewolf's legs. He didn't trip - instead, the churning paws seemed to _slow down._ Beth watched, horrified and fascinated, as Lupin ran in slow motion, his gait like that of a carousel animal, losing ground as his prey easily outran him. 

Without looking back, Potter, Granger and the hippogriff put on an extra burst of speed and darted into Hagrid's cabin, slamming the door shut without knowing that the werewolf was merely a few yards from their heels. 

Thwarted, the werewolf turned - inch by gradual inch - toward the forest where Richard's spell had originated. He caught sight of them ... glared ... slowly, slowly began to shake his head back and forth ... took weirdly elegant steps, only a few per minute ... once every few seconds ... one per _second_ ... 

"He's speeding back up!" Beth cried, suddenly shaken out of her stupor by the knowledge that a werewolf was charging towards them. 

"Then run!" roared Richard. He grabbed her upper arm and took off into the forest. 

Running had never been Beth's favorite thing to do -- it stemmed back to several humiliating "Track and Field Days" in elementary school -- but now she threw herself into it with a passion. Even so, she could hear the footsteps of the wolf get louder as it hit the brush-ridden forest floor ... and get louder as it slowly gained on them. Their two legs were no match for its four, and their fear wasn't as strong as its desire to kill. It was catching up ... 

Bruce whipped out his wand and pointed it over his shoulder. "Confundus!" he yelled, voice swept away in his speed. "Confundus! _Confundus!_" 

The werewolf staggered and turned several directions confusedly, then turned and wandered deeper into the Forbidden Forest. 

Relieved, Beth slowed down, but Bruce gave her a shove. 

"Keep going!" he bellowed. "I don't know how long that'll last!" 

They bolted along the edge of the forest, to the safety of the castle. Suddenly Richard looked back over his shoulder and skidded to a halt. Beth ran full-force into him and they traveled a few more feet on her momentum alone. He shoved her aside and thrust out an arm to catch Bruce as he ran past. 

"What?" Beth panted, out of breath and preferring to get as far away from the werewolf as possible. 

"Potter's outside again!" 

"So are we!" Bruce yelled. 

Richard looked anxiously between Bruce and Potter. "We -- can't just let him stay out here and get mauled," he said. "Dumbledore ..." For a moment there was a look of pure, full longing in his eyes. Then he said firmly, "I'm going to watch his back until he's safe." 

Bruce gave Richard a look of sheer disbelief. "But what if we're killed?" 

"What if we fail Dumbledore?" Richard said, voice rising helplessly. 

Beth and Bruce exchanged glances. Between "Never show weakness" and "Get ahead," Beth realized that she had almost forgotten about the most vital part of the Slytherin code: "Ambition above all." Richard had set his sights on impressing the headmaster, and he'd die before failure. Both of the fifth-years recognized it at once. Bruce heaved a sigh. 

"All right, all right, Rich. Back to the forest. Wands at the ready!" 

Potter had emerged from Hagrid's cabin and was running towards the lake. The three S.S.A. members followed silently, watching as he looked all around anxiously and finally threw himself behind a bush. From the forest, he was clearly visible -- obviously, he was hiding from something across the lake. Richard kept his eyes on Potter, but Beth looked past him, across the lake. There was motion, barely distinguishable from so far away ... the moon came out and the scene came out in desolate clarity. A clutch of fear caught in Beth's throat: scores of dementors swarmed the opposite shore, circling like vile buzzards around something indistinguishable. She squinted into the darkness. 

Bruce clutched at her arm and her attention was drawn back to the woods. "Here he comes!" A rhythmic padding was slowly approaching ... a wolf on the prowl ... 

"Stupefy on three," Bruce murmured, and the three of them drew close together, all attention now on the forest. "One ..." 

A shimmer of silver-gray fur showed through the leaves. 

"Two ..." 

Yellow eyes glinted in the moonlight. There was a low growl -- a tense silence -- 

"Three!" 

On Bruce's whispered cry, several things happened at once. The werewolf leapt from its cover, teeth bared ... all three shouted "Stupefy!" and the wolf collapsed dizzily to the ground ... Potter jumped up and yelled, "EXPECTO PATRONUM!" so loud that Beth couldn't even hear her own spell being cast ... and a brilliant silver light burst from the end of Potter's wand. The Slytherins whirled around to see Potter's Patronus gallop across the lake and bowl into the dementors, seeming to blast them aside as it went, whirling hooves and antlers. 

They watched, dumbstruck, as the creature laid waste to the dementors and came gliding back to stand before Potter. It bowed its head and faded away, leaving Potter with his arm outstretched, staring over the black surface of the lake. 

"_What did you do?_" 

Four heads turned to see Hermione Granger, hippogriff in tow, storm towards Potter, face livid. "You said you were only going to keep a lookout!" 

"Down," murmured Richard, and the three Slytherins ducked behind a shrub. 

The wolf stirred. 

"... I thought I was my dad! It's okay ..." 

"Harry, I can't believe it ..." 

"Stupefy!" Bruce hissed, shooting a covert spell toward the fallen werewolf. Its front paw twitched and it lay restlessly still. 

"... get back into the ward before anybody realizes ..." 

Once more the Gryffindors waited. Richard kept turning his gaze from them to the defeated dementors across the lake, then to the fallen werewolf and back. Finally, the two third-years began whispering excitedly and pointing across the grounds to the castle, where someone indistinguishable had emerged from the Entrance Hall. Without warning, they both climbed onto the hippogriff, adjusted its lead rope into a pair of reins, and nudged its flanks with their heels. 

Mouths hanging open, the Slytherins watched the two third-years take off on the hippogriff and fly high into the nighttime sky. Then the clouds once again covered the moon, and they were lost from sight in the darkness. 

Richard ran his hands through his hair uncertainly. "Well ... there's not much we can do for him up there ..." 

"Then how about protecting _ourselves_ for once?" Bruce said. A few yards away, the werewolf gave a grunt and his leg twitched again. Richard met his gaze, eyes wide, and nodded. "We need to get inside!" 

They hurried through the forest, heads constantly turning, watching their backs. The rustle of underbrush followed them and Bruce, at the front, broke into a run. Beth and Richard followed his lead until all three of them were running at breakneck speed, dodging trees and leaping logs, keenly aware of what was behind them -- and what would happen if they were caught. In minutes, they had reached the outside wall of the castle. Richard faltered. 

"The other Potter -- where is he --?" 

But no one remained near the Whomping Willow; the other Potter was nowhere to be seen. "It's ... out of our hands ... Rich ..." Beth panted, bent over double with a cramp from running. 

Richard bit his lip and nodded. He sprung to the wall where they had emerged and started feeling along the cracks to find the door. 

"Where was that exit --" he said, running his hands all along the wall. "Must be -- somewhere --" 

"The wardrobe might just be one-way!" Bruce barked, backing up slowly, with his wand at the ready. "We have to find another way in --" The howl of a wolf cut through the thick trees. "-- fast!" 

"Broom shed," Beth said breathlessly. "Comes out at Gregory the Smarmy." 

"That's halfway across the grounds!" said Bruce, not taking his eyes from the Forbidden Forest. 

"Well, what's your brilliant idea?" Beth hissed back. 

"All right! We'll take it!" Richard said, abandoning the ivy-covered and very solid wall of Hogwarts. "Beth -- go first -- Bruce, next -- I'll bring up the rear --" 

"Go on before me," Bruce murmured, still sharply watching the edge of the woods. "I can handle him." 

Richard hesitated; but the howl came again, closer and louder, and he nodded to Beth. 

They started across the grounds slowly, looking back at every step. The fickle clouds billowed across the moon again, casting the grounds into darkness. Beth stumbled on a loose stone and barely caught herself before she heard Bruce draw a quick intake of breath, and a rustle from the edge of the forest. Once again, Beth broke into a run. "Hurry!" she barked over her shoulder. 

They hurtled across the grounds, now flooded with moonlight, the broom shed growing ever larger as they sped towards it -- Bruce cried, "He sees us!" but they could hear the wolf's panting grow louder -- both boys were firing spells over their shoulders, but none seemed to hit the target -- and the panting grew ever louder -- 

And then they were there. 

Beth wrenched open the door to the broom shed, boys right on her tail. They threw themselves inside. Beth tripped on a broomstick and went sprawling -- the two boys came down with her, in a struggling heap -- Bruce kicked out hard and managed to connect with the door -- it slammed shut, the werewolf just yards away -- 

"_Cerradito,_" Richard gasped. He had extricated his wand and pointed it at the door. There was a snarling sound, and a growl ... then the whole shed shook with the force of a bodily collision. Still entangled, the three students fought their way free of each other. Richard, under the tousled hair falling into a scratched and sweaty face, was beaming. 

"He can't get through _that_ locking charm," he said proudly. "We're as good as inside!" 

The shed rocked again and there was a frustrated whimper from outside. 

"Just the same ..." Richard added hastily, "... let's get back into the castle quickly, shall we?" 

Minutes later, the three of them were climbing out from behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy. No sooner had they all emerged than they heard a sharp whisper from a nearby classroom. "Get in here!" 

"Uther!" Richard whispered back excitedly, and they quickly slunk across the hall and very quietly closed the door to the classroom. 

Most of the rest of the S.S.A. was in there, sitting around in the empty desks, faintly illuminated in blue wandlight. "What took so long?" Uther asked, looking them over worriedly. "We had the right Potter, I kept expecting you to show up." 

"There were two Potters," Richard said grimly, "and ours needed saving from a werewolf." 

Melissa's eyes lit up. "Yes of course, we saw him transform! I knew I should have watched the lunar charts more carefully." She paused. "Two Potters?" 

Beth shrugged. 

"Well, while you three were off playing with Professor Lupin," said Mervin dourly, "we got to meet those delightful dementors all round the perimeter." 

"You're all right?" Richard said anxiously. 

Uther leaned over and tousled Richard's hair. "Course, old sport! Mel's a pro Patronus conjurer, you know. They just held us up a bit. Half of them went after Black and Potter, the other half thought they'd go after us." 

"Is Potter okay?" Beth said anxiously. "I mean -- your Potter?" 

Evan snorted. As usual, he stood a bit apart from the circle. "Hale and healthy as ever." 

"Well -- he did faint," Melissa amended. "But someone else drove away the dementors before they could do any real damage - I mean administer the Dementor's Kiss, you know. I'd thought it was one of you," she said, looking at the three of them, "but something tells me it wasn't." 

"It was the other Potter, the one on our side of the lake," Richard said. "What did you do then?" 

"What could we do?" said Uther, with a little shrug. "Potter was fine. We Ennervated Snape from a distance and waited until he got them all inside, then snuck back in. We've been waiting for you since." He reached out to ruffle Richard's hair again, but he ducked away from it and sat down on a ledge. 

"So let's see," he said, head propped on his chin, brow furrowed. "Your Potter's fine. Our Potter's fine. We still don't know why he happens to be in two places at once, but odds are Dumbledore can clear that up. Everyone who was outside is back in again." He looked up at them and smiled. "I'd say it was a good evening." 

"Speak for yourself," said Bruce, picking thorns out of his sleeve. 

Richard stood up and clapped him on the shoulder. "Go get some sleep," he said. "Beth and I will go track down Blaise, Morag and Herne -- I wonder if they every found Dumbledore? -- and we'll be in soon." He grinned lopsidedly. "I guess we'll have to wait and have our last meeting next Thursday." 

The rest of the S.S.A. began to creep back down to the common room. Richard sat in the middle of the floor and unrolled the map. Beth sat down beside him and leaned over the map. "Hmm, Dumbledore's still out of the office ... this thing is great, we've got to get one for the Vase Room ..." 

"Yeah," Richard agreed. "Do we really have to give it back to Lupin?" 

"He'll probably miss it," said Beth. Richard nodded reluctantly. "We'll drop it off on the way back, his office is probably still hanging open. Oh -- there they are! How'd they get clear over to the East Wing?" 

Keeping an eye on the map to make sure no one was coming, Beth and Rich made their way through the castle. Not only did the map show the many people and places of Hogwarts, but it displayed hidden tunnels and passageways, and even included the trick step on the southern staircase. As their own dots approached those representing the younger students, Richard let out a snort. 

"The custodian's closet? Really, I thought Herne would have found some better spots by now ..." He reached out and grasped the doorknob; then, with a grin at Beth, wrenched it open and cried, "AHA!" 

Blaise screamed. Morag sputtered a Gaelic curse and white feathers of light shot from his wand, which Richard sidestepped. He waited until the students realized it was him; then, as they were collecting their wits and describing what they would do if he ever did that again, he said, "How'd it go?" 

"We never found Dumbledore," Herne admitted, sitting down on an upturned bucket. 

"Oh no, we found him," Blaise corrected hastily. "But he was busy, we sort of had to hide ... they've captured Sirius Black!" 

"We know," said Richard. "I think our job's done. We've just come to get you three and tell you it's all right to go back to the common room ..." 

There was an earsplitting clatter as suits of armor along one side of the hall began to explode into their components, scattering helmets, gauntlets, and breastplates across the hall. Five seconds later, the group of Slytherins stood up to their knees in iron. There was a screech of laughter and Peeves the Poltergeist popped into visibility. 

"Hah! Got you yet!" Peeves cackled. He blew a raspberry at them and bobbed away upside-down, gloating and laughing his head off. 

Herne sighed heavily. "Go and hide, if anyone gets caught it might as well be me again," he said, almost resignedly, and began to put the armor back together. 

The others crept back into the closet while Herne stood in the middle of the hall. Sure enough, moments later they heard stomping boots and a shout of victory. "Rudisille, I would have known!" 

"I was in bed, then ... then I was here, and the armor sort of ... fell on me ..." 

"In bed -- in your _school robes?_" said Filch gleefully. "Oh, Rudisille, I'll have you this time ..." There was the short sound of a scuffle, then the hall fell into silence once more. 

Richard turned to Blaise and Morag, who were peering out a crack in the door. "Where's Black?" 

"Oop in th' West Tower," Morag said, pointing vaguely upward. 

"He's in Flitwick's office," Blaise clarified. "Probably because his locking charms are so good. Why?" 

"Go back to the common room," Richard ordered. He looked tired suddenly. Beth glanced at her watch and realized that it was practically midnight. "I want to see him." 

"Let me come," said Beth quickly. 

"Then us too," Blaise spoke up, but Richard shook his head and said shortly, 

"No, you've already seen him. We'll only be a minute. Go on -- and don't get caught." 

Sulkily, Blaise and Morag made their way downstairs to the Slytherin common room. 

Beth followed Richard up several flights of stairs to Professor Flitwick's office. This corridor was well-lit, proving that people had been through recently, and light was coming from the window on Flitwick's door. They looked around carefully to make sure no one was around, then craned their necks to see into the tiny window. 

There was a pause. Then Richard said, "They said Flitwick's office, didn't they?" 

"Yes," said Beth, still peering around the room. 

"And there's not a closet in there or anything, is there?" 

"No." 

Richard frowned and stood back from the door. "_Indicere sapiens,_" he said, holding his wand in the flat of his hand. It began to rotate slowly in his palm, stopping as it pointed to Beth, then moving on to point at Richard, then back to Beth, around in a circle ... 

"Beth," said Richard weakly. "There's no one in that room." 

Beth met his gaze with horror and dove back to the window -- but he was right, nothing stirred beyond the door. Professor Flitwick's office was empty. 

"We have to tell Dumbledore," she said automatically, thinking of the many times in the past three years that she had heard those words put together, and how rarely they actually managed to do so. "He's probably still on the grounds, they can get him --" 

She was interrupted by the sound of footsteps and cheerful voices. 

"... I expect he'll want to tell the Prophet exactly how you saved him ..." 

"I'm afraid that gratitude may be a bit too much to ask of Potter, Minister Fudge, but knowing that I've done some good will be all the reward I need ..." 

It was Professor Snape, walking side by side with a round, baldish man who Beth recognized as Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic. She had seen him only once before, and that had been in London under less than favorable circumstances. Thinking that meeting him while breaking curfew was also somewhat undesirable, she made to hide, then hesitated and stayed put. Someone had to be told about Black's escape. 

"Professor Snape!" said Richard, as they rounded the corner. "I'm glad you're here. You see, we've found out that --" 

Both men jumped; obviously, the last thing either of them expected was a pair of students running around on the seventh floor. 

"What are you doing out this late, Shaw?" said Professor Snape, but the question somehow lacked its usual venom. He must easily have been in the best mood of his life; Beth had never heard him sound so ... well ... _happy_. 

"Oh," said Richard. "Erm, Herne was sleepwalking again ... I heard him leave, but he's sort of got away from me ... but Professor, we have to tell you something --" 

"It can wait until morning, Mr. Shaw. At this moment I have a convicted prisoner to deal with." Snape swelled with pride. 

"Yes, er, that's just it, you see ..." 

"I say!" said Cornelius Fudge, squinting at Richard. "You aren't that boy who screamed the Dark Lord's name outside the Ministry the other year?" 

"Ah," said Richard, going pale, "er, yes, that was me, but -- like then, I should add -- there's really something important you should know --" 

Beth shoved him aside and looked straight up at Snape. "Sirius Black," she said forcefully, pointing at the locked door, "is not in there." 

A look of absolute rage fell over Snape's face. He whipped out his wand, blasted the door open, and nearly flew into the empty room. There was a moment of utter silence. Then a roar of fury like Beth had never heard erupted from the room and Snape tore out of it, face livid. 

"HOW DID YOU KNOW?" he roared, bearing down on Richard. 

Richard quailed under the wrath of his professor. "Dumbledore told us he was in here --" he fabricated hastily, "--and that you'd caught him -- so we thought we'd come take a look, you know ... share your glory, and all ... and when we got here --" 

Cornelius Fudge, who had also poked his head into Flitwick's office, was wringing his hands and looking sorely vexed. "A murderer loose on the grounds of Hogwarts, Severus! We should have had dementors watching him from the very first ---" 

The sound of footsteps floated down the hall and Snape let go of the front of Richard's shirt. 

It was Dumbledore, looking placid as usual. "What's all this shouting, Severus?" he asked mildly, hands in his wide sleeves. 

"MY PRISONER," roared Snape, jabbing a finger at the open door, "IS GONE!" 

"My my," said Dumbledore, looking barely perturbed. "How could that have come about?" 

Snape stared at him, neck muscles working unpleasantly. Then a sort of deathly calm seemed to come over him. He was clearly adding things up in his mind. 

"Potter." 

"Yes, where is Potter now?" Fudge said anxiously. "Black's sure to come after him again, Dumbledore --" 

"NO, POTTER IS THE CRIMINAL!" Snape practically shrieked, froth flying from his mouth. "HE DID IT! HE LET BLACK ESCAPE! I DON'T KNOW HOW, BUT IT -- WAS -- POTTER!" 

He charged away towards the hospital wing. Fudge, clearly bewildered and angry, followed. 

Dumbledore leaned toward Beth and Richard. "Don't bother looking for Black, he's quite gone by now," he said quickly. "I have business to see to now, but I look forward to hearing what all this has to do with you. I suggest you return to your common room." 

"Yes, Sir," said Richard weakly, and Dumbledore strode after the other two, saying calmly, "Gentlemen, a bit of reason, if you please --" 

The hall fell into silence as the angry voices faded. Beth and Richard looked at each other. Then Richard opened his mouth uncertainly. 

"We saved Potter from the werewolf." 

A grin spread over his face. 

"We did something right." 

They gazed at each other for a moment. Then Beth let out a whoop of pure relief. Richard grabbed her around the waist and swung her around until they were both dizzy, and from the way they shouted for joy, anyone would have thought they had captured Sirius Black themselves. 


	25. The Dead Parsimmer

**Chapter Twenty-Five: The Dead Parsimmer**

The next day was a scheduled trip to Hogsmeade, and although Beth was very ready for a vacation after all they had been through, Richard stayed behind for a long talk with Dumbledore. So, wishing him luck, the rest of the S.S.A. packed up and headed down to the village for some much-needed relaxation. 

The stress of finals had done some good; it had completely shattered the year-long tradition of "going with" someone to Hogsmeade. Draco Malfoy somehow managed to shake off Pansy Parkinson, and was spotted with Crabbe and Goyle setting a booby trap for Colin Creevey. The Quidditch team stormed the Leaky Cauldron and sang "Beat Back Those Bludgers, Boys, and Chuck That Quaffle Here" until Madame Rosmerta, pink and chuckling, served free butterbeer to the seven of them. For Beth, it was a huge relief to stroll around with Melissa and Bruce again, without worrying about Galen, Antigone, or any of it. 

And through it all, there was the gossip: Sirius Black had escaped. Professor Lupin was a werewolf and had resigned his position. Professor Flitwick's office wasn't as secure as he had thought. (Only the Ravenclaws were really interested in this tidbit.) And Professor Snape was as mad as a toad in the Sahara. 

"Can you blame him?" said Bruce idly, when this reached their ears. 

"Yeah, but you should have seen him," Beth said fervently. "I thought he was going to _kill_ someone." 

A sort of sadness flitted across Bruce's face. "Oh, why couldn't it have been Potter?" 

They visited the Shrieking Shack and Zonko's, where the Weasley twins were seen plotting in one corner; Beth pointed out the cave where they had met Bode and Croaker; in Honeydukes' they were gratified to see that the sign about dementors patrolling after nightfall had been removed. They stopped by the small broomstick shop and museum near Dervish and Banges because there was a rumor that the museum had acquired an actual Firebolt. 

Bruce gazed hatefully at the Firebolt (no doubt with Potter in mind) while Beth and Melissa went back to the row of portraits of _Generous Contributors to the Museum and to the Sport of Quidditch in General_. "So you're related to him," Melissa mused, pointing up at the portrait of Beobub "Bob" Parsimmer. "Very rich, you know. Maybe you'll get one of those whacking big inheritances that you read about in books." 

"My life hasn't been much like a book up till now," said Beth. As she looked up at the portrait she saw images of her father, emaciated Lycaeon, mad Chris, and the blonde-pigtailed Hufflepuff reflected in the eyes and chin of the Parsimmers -- and she saw a black band around Beobub's upper arm. 

"The banshee." 

Melissa took a quick breath. "Do you hear her now?" she asked, looking around with wide eyes. 

"No, no, it's just that I realized I haven't heard her for months! But look at that band on his arm." The man in the portrait turned slightly and smiled down at them sadly. 

Melissa grasped the significance immediately and called over the shopkeeper, a parched middle-aged man who hobbled quickly at her summons. "That wasn't there before," she told him, pointing to the black band. 

The shopkeeper leaned on his cane and nodded sagely. "Yes, poor man, he had me paint it on in March when he heard that his grandmother had died on an expedition down the Amazon. The dear old lady was one hundred and twenty, and simply not as adept at crocodile-wrestling as she was once." He paused to wipe a tear from his eye. "Her death was a personal loss to me. I'm sorry." He shuffled away, pulling a huge hanky from his pocket. 

Beth stared after him. "That means it's not --" she began, and a huge smile broke over her face. 

Melissa squealed excitedly and hugged her. 

"Guess what, Beth!" 

Beth turned around to see Colin Creevey standing there, eating a large Honeydukes chocolate and flocked by his second-year friends. "What?" she grinned. 

"The Potions final was really easy -- I think I passed the second-year exam!" 

"Colin," said Beth, unable to stop smiling, "that's just great." Without warning, she swooped down on him and gave him a big hug. The chocolate fell from his hands and some of his classmates looked alarmed, but Beth didn't notice. "That's great. Everything's just _great!_" 

Colin beamed. 

The day was long and warm, and it was a tired and happy group of students that boarded the horseless coaches on the way back to the school. All of them were drowsy, but Mervin seemed unusually subdued. Beth asked about it. 

"Gina used to love Hogsmeade," he said forlornly. 

Melissa smiled sympathetically. "We all miss Gina," she said staunchly. "She was like the S.S.A. mascot." 

"Right," Beth chimed in. A thought struck her. "I'll bet the magic mirror will let you see her." 

Mervin looked up at her as if unwilling to hope. "Mirror?" 

"Right, it's in the prefect's lounge for firsties who get homesick!" said Beth enthusiastically. "Riggs showed it to me last year ... We'll get Richard to take us there right away, how about that?" 

"That would ... be great," said Mervin, and he slowly began to smile. 

Richard was delighted to show them the mirror. The prefects' lounge was empty; Beth figured everyone was out enjoying the summer sun or celebrating the end of finals. 

"So what did Dumbledore tell you?" Melissa asked eagerly, as they gathered around the mirror. 

Richard grinned ruefully. "Not a lot, truth be told, although he's promised us another Special Award for Services to the School. Potter and Granger were using some sort of manipulation of time -- that's why there were two of each -- and Dumbledore tells me that Sirius Black is innocent." 

Melissa gaped at him. "But he slashed up that portrait!" 

"And went after that little Weasley with a knife," Beth added. 

"Not to mention breaking out of Azkaban and into Hogwarts," said Melissa. 

Richard shrugged. "Yes, well, he's supposed to be innocent of that mass Muggle-killing twelve years ago." 

"That's nuts," said Melissa, shaking her head. "Just like that, he's the good guy? What convinced Dumbledore?" 

"He wouldn't tell me how they knew. '_I'm sorry, Mr. Shaw,_'" Richard said imperiously, screwing up his face in imitation of the headmaster, "'_but it may be best for you and the Society if you know no more than the general public about these matters until they are resolved_.'" He gave a half-shrug. "I guess we'll have to find out the usual way." 

"Sneaking around eavesdropping?" said Beth wickedly. 

Richard grinned. "You've got it." 

"My snake ..." said Mervin pointedly, and Richard turned back to him. 

"Yes, of course. Just look into the mirror and say the name of whoever you want to see." He scratched his head. "I'm pretty sure it works for animals too." 

Mervin nodded and stepped up to the mirror. "Show me Nagini Fletcher." The glass grew cloudy and began to whirl. 

"Nagini?" asked Beth. 

Mervin ducked his head. "That's her full name, Gina's just a nickname," he admitted. "I figured, I'd better be specific. In case there's more than one snake named Gina out there." 

"I'll bet there's only one named Nagini," said Melissa, impressed, but just then the picture cleared up. Through the mirror they could see Gina slithering through a dark coniferous forest, long and sinuous. Mervin heaved a deep sigh. 

"I just hate to think of her out there all alone, though," he said heavily. "She's so little ... and ... " 

He trailed off. The picture in the mirror had panned outward so that Gina's whole twelve-foot length was visible. Walking along behind her was a hunched man in a tattered cloak. 

"_Who is that?_" Mervin exploded. He pressed his face against the mirror, which fogged in protest. "Get away from my snake!" 

Beth thought it unnecessary to remind him that neither Gina nor the small man in the cloak could hear what he was yelling. In the mirror, Gina turned and hissed at the man, who quickened his step so that he was walking more or less beside her head. 

"They look like friends," said Melissa tentatively. "At least she's not on her own." 

"Right -- come on, he looks too pathetic to try to hurt her," Beth added. Indeed, the man was balding and slack-skinned, with a sort of hunted look in his small ratlike eyes. "She's in great shape compared to him. She's big enough to take care of herself." 

Mervin gazed into the mirror. "Guess so," he agreed, after a long moment. "I guess ... when you love something ... you've got to -- let ... it ... go ..." He sniffled back tears and took a handkerchief out of his pocket. "She'll always be my baby," he said brokenly, and buried his face in the handkerchief. Melissa patted him comfortingly on the back. 

Quite apart from missing Gina and Rat, the fifth-years had another great concern facing them: O.W.L.s results. It was the last day of the term when an official-looking envelope dropped onto Beth's plate at breakfast. She looked down the table and saw identical letters falling near her classmates. They picked them up, exchanged glances all along the table, and scattered to open them in private. 

Beth scurried through the halls until she came to the statue of Gregory the Smarmy. She sank down beside it and turned the envelope over with trembling fingers. This was it -- her whole future in the wizarding world, here in her hands. 

Once again she thought of the botched transfiguration and shuddered. She had done terribly -- she had failed. She didn't want to look. 

She tore open the top of the envelope. 

She really, really didn't want to look. 

_Come on, Parson, it's done with, you can't change your score by not looking at it._

She wanted someone else to look at it for her. 

No -- she didn't want _anyone_ else to see, _ever_. 

This is ridiculous. 

In a rush of resolve, Beth took a deep breath and yanked the paper out of its envelope. Hands shaking, she opened it and glanced down over the tiny writing. At the very bottom of the paper, a number leapt out at her. 

The number one. 

_Oh help_, thought Beth, panic rising in her chest, _I only got one O.W.L.?!?_

Then she realized that the one was followed by another one, and that together that made eleven -- a hot swoop of relief rushed through her and she started to laugh. Eleven -- that wasn't bad at all. In fact, it was good! What had she been worried about? 

She went back to the table, where the fifth-years were recongregating. "Eight!" said Aaron, his face a mask of relief. "Can you believe it?" He lowered his voice. "Don't say anything to Warrington. He got a five and he's taking it rather hard." 

That was an understatement. Every piece of silverware within Warrington's reach had been bent in half. 

Antigone fluttered by, tossing her hair unconcernedly. "I don't need a lot of O.W.L.s if I can snag a rich husband," she tossed over her shoulder at Beth. For the first time all year, Beth felt good about the different roles they played. She would personally prefer O.W.L.s over a trophy spouse any day. 

Unsurprisingly, Melissa got the best score in the class (although she wouldn't actually tell anyone how she had done, they got her to admit that it was over twelve), but Mervin had also done very well. "They actually gave me one extra for cursing the Weasleys!" said Mervin joyously. "They were impressed that I got two people at once so accurately -- look, they made a note of it!" His smile faltered a little. "I just wish Gina and Rat were here to see it." 

"He can't stand human company," came a voice from nearby. 

"He's not in human company, he's with the Slytherins," chimed in an identical voice. 

They turned to see the Weasley twins standing smugly together. They each had their O.W.L.s results in hand. Without warning, Melissa snatched the envelope from the closest one of them. The Weasley shot out his hand to grab it back, but before he could, Melissa had it open and was reading the results with glimmering eyes. 

"My _my,_" she exclaimed delightedly. "And a pureblood family at that. _What_ will your mother say?" 

"She'll say at least I wasn't Sorted into the snake pit," the Weasley snapped, while his brother finally managed to snatch the paper away from Melissa. 

"Perhaps," said Melissa smoothly, completely unperturbed, "but even you should have managed to pull more than _seven_." She raised her voice at the end so that the last word echoed clearly around the room. The Weasley threw up a brilliant blush. Melissa went on, obviously relishing the moment. "They give you four just for showing up, don't they? I say -- is your brother just as slow, or did he do even worse?" 

"He did _better,_" the Weasley said, but now both twins were blushing furiously despite their defiant stance. 

"Eight?" guessed Melissa evilly. The other Weasley didn't say anything, but his expression was all the confirmation they needed. 

"Well, we can't all have average human intelligence," said Mervin, looking at them with a sort of pity. 

"Don't worry, boys, there's lots you can do with scores like that," Melissa said soothingly. "Menial labor ... factory charms ... I suppose you could always open a joke shop ..." 

One of them started forward and began to say something, but his brother held him back and whispered something in his ear. The Weasley looked back at Melissa, said, "See you at the feast!" in a bright way, and then they left. 

Mervin snorted. "What kind of parting shot was that?" 

It turned out to be a very good parting shot. Once they had assembled at the feast, it was announced Gryffindor won the House Cup for the third year in a row, beating out Slytherin by a scant forty points. Bruce was beside himself. 

"Do you realize --" he said, breathing heavily, "-- that if Marcus and Draco hadn't lost those fifty points --" 

Richard looked over at them and slowly sank his head into his arms. 

That was the last major event of the school year. Before Beth knew it, she and her friends stood at Hogsmeade station, loading their trunks onto the Hogwarts Express and making eager plans for the food cart. Bruce had put on his traveling clothes and found a pocketful of moldering Every Flavor Beans from the very beginning of the year. "Super," he said happily, and popped them into his mouth. 

Melissa had finished packing. "Come on, are you ready?" 

"One more trunk," Beth promised. "Save me a seat, all right? I'll be there in a minute." Melissa nodded agreeably and she and Bruce disappeared onto the train. 

Beth bent and loaded her trunk into the compartment at the base of the train. 

"Beth? Can I ... have a word?" 

She turned around. There stood Richard, suitcase in hand, smiling awkwardly. "Sure," she said, surprised. "What is it?" 

"I just ... wanted to say that I hope things go well with your brother's trial, and I'm glad it worked out for your father," he said. 

"All thanks to you," said Beth sincerely. "I didn't know what to do. I wish I could tell him everything the Society did." 

"Yes, well I ..." 

"You would have done it for any one of the members, right?" Beth teased. 

Richard smiled softly. "Actually, I would have done anything for you." He bent down suddenly and very tenderly kissed her cheek. 

Beth's mouth dropped open in surprise. Richard drew back quickly and they both flushed a brilliant red. "Well ... uh ... have a good summer," he finished awkwardly, and rushed away. 

Beth stared after him. As he boarded the train, one of his sixth-year friends glanced back at her and clapped Richard on the shoulder. He ducked his head and hurried onto the train. 

"Coming, Beth?" 

Bruce and Melissa were hanging out of the window of the train expectantly. 

"I'm coming," called Beth back absently, and she climbed onto the Hogwarts Express, still feeling Richard's soft touch on her cheek. 

***

One month later ... 

The courtroom had reassembled. Witnesses, family, and judge surrounded Lycaeon Parson as he sat in the center of the room, shackled to the chair in the center. He gazed up at Justice Matheson, more strongly than he had before. The Justice glared back at him before issuing the final ruling. 

"Lycaeon Cyrus Parson, you have been determined by this court to be repentant of your crimes and ready to reenter the world of the honest and the hard-working. Your wand will be kept in custody for fifteen years, at which point you may reclaim it if you have maintained a clean record in that time. You are forbidden to do magic until that time. You will report to a designated Ministry official on the first of each month." Then he smiled. "Good luck in your new life." 

Beth felt like shouting for joy. There was some smattering of applause -- she looked around and saw Dave Gudgeon clapping, with Bode and Croaker behind him giving her enthusiastic thumbs-up signals. 

Lycaeon looked beyond words. Fat tears rolled from his hollow eyes. He slowly turned his gaze to his father. Then the chains around his arms and legs vanished, and he leapt up, vaulted over the railing, and crushed Mr. Parson in a mighty hug. 

He released his father and turned to Beth. He reached out his shaking hands and took her hands. "Bethy," he said softly, "I want to hear all about you." 

"Me too," she said, and felt tears well up in her eyes. 

They left the courtroom together, Lycaeon joyously shaking hands with everyone on the way out. "Well done," murmured Dave Gudgeon, patting him on the back. 

The old witch with the knitting needles bustled up to them, the flower on her hat bobbing as she waddled. "Oh Mr. Parson!" she called, when she was nearly there. 

Both Beth's father and brother turned to look at her. Beth giggled helplessly. She had only known one Mr. Parson in her life. 

The knitting witch arrived in their midst. "I once had a brother," she said softly to Beth. Then she turned to Lycaeon. 

"You killed him." 

She raised a knitting needle above her head and plunged it into Lycaeon's chest. 

Lycaeon staggered backwards, a trickle of blood starting to show on his threadbare shirt where the needle still stood. He fell into his father's arms. Beth opened her mouth in silent shock, unable to even scream -- but she heard the shriek of the banshee in her head, heard the wailing for the death of an unknown Parsimmer -- the doomed one was known now, he lay on the floor in his father's lap with blood running ever more thickly down his front -- 

"_Stupefy!_" 

Justice Matheson charged into the group, wand leveled at the old witch. She fell to the floor senseless. The second knitting needle clattered to the ground. 

Beth didn't watch what happened next. Her eyes were fixed on her lost-found-lost brother, losing his life on the cold stone floor of the courtroom. 

***

"Bethy?" 

"Beth dear, are you all right?" 

From her chair, Beth looked up and smiled wanly. "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Scamander." 

The old couple clustered around her. Mrs. Scamander bent to give Beth a warm hug. "Oh Beth, how are you?" 

"I'm -- I'm all right." She smiled bravely. "I'm all right." 

"Where's your Pa, Bethy?" Mr. Scamander asked gruffly. 

"Down the hall," said Beth, standing up. "Come on, let's go see him." 

She led them down the antiseptic halls of St. Andrew's and into a small bedroom. Mr. Parson sat in a harsh-looking metal chair. He stood up when he saw the Scamanders. "Newt ... Porpentina ... I can't thank you enough for coming ..." 

"We'll always be here for you, Bill," said Mrs. Scamander fondly, enveloping him in her arms. Her eyes seemed a bit wet. "How is Lycaeon?" 

"You might ask him yourself," came a voice from behind them. 

They gathered around the hospital cot where Lycaeon lay, tucked up to his waist in a clean white linen. Through the thin hospital gown they could see a wide bandage slung around his chest. Though his cheeks were still gaunt, he bore a faint smile. 

"Well then, Mr. Parson, how are you?" said Mr. Scamander crabbily. 

"I could play Quidditch for England," Lycaeon said grandly, with a sweep of his arm. He winced at the sudden pain. "Well -- soon." 

A plump, Irish nurse in a white uniform bustled in, bearing a tray of food. "What's all this talk about you playin' cribbage in England, now?" she demanded. "Don't you be worryin' with such rubbish, Mr. Parson, t'will make you heal more slow, hear?" She cast a sidelong glance at the Scamanders in their long wizards' robes before hustling away, clicking her tongue. 

Lycaeon watched her go. "Rather cute, for a Muggle," he commented roguishly. 

"You've got low standards," said Beth severely. 

Lycaeon spread his hands. "I haven't seen a girl in thirteen years, it's going to take me a while to get back into this." 

Mr. Parson smiled down at his son. "We'll all help you," he said, putting an arm around Beth's shoulders. Mr. and Mrs. Scamander joined them at the side of the cot, nodding agreement. 

It would only take a bit of time and faith, as Mrs. Scamander had said earlier than year. With both, nothing was impossible. 

Finis


End file.
